we are infinite
by lenina20
Summary: 3x22 AU: Alaric never kills Klaus, and Elijah keeps his promise to protect Elena and keep Klaus desiccated for one hundred and fifty years. But that night Elijah makes another promise to Caroline, that he will find her when it's time to wake up Klaus. And so for that long the originals protect Caroline as they all wait for the day when Klaus will rise again, and they will reunite.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, my dear readers! Here it is - an actual multi-chaptered fic. Let's hope my daring in attempting this story doesn't result in a complete mess - I am really a one-shot kinda writer, but I really couldn't help myself. This fandom is so inviting and kind and welcoming, I really had to try!**

**I hope you like it!**

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**Prologue**

She doesn't really understand what she's doing here. Yeah—she totally gets the plan. She understand they can't leave the originals out of their sight until the exchange has taken place but, honestly, what does Stefan expect her to do if Elijah decides to go rogue and play them all for the fools they usually are?

It's not like she has any way to stop him from doing whatever he feels like doing at any time he pleases. He's a freaking original, isn't he?

Not to mention that—isn't the entire point of the plan that Elijah _can_ be trusted? He's promised not to harm Elena, hasn't he? And both Elena and Stefan trust him, so really, care anyone to explain to Caroline what in the world she's doing standing in the middle of the woods, leaning on one foot, then the other, squirming under the inscrutable gaze of an original vampire she has maybe like _never_ talked to before?

Seriously.

Tyler is waiting for her. They're supposed to be on the run. Yet she's stuck here—not running _at all_. Trapped in the goddamned forest with an original vampire dressed in a label suit and with a hairdo a lot more impeccable than hers. And the thing is, Caroline doesn't really know how to stay quiet, you see. That's the problem. But also, what can see _possibly_ ever say to him? _Hey, I'm Caroline Forbes. I don't believe we've properly met. Or maybe we have sometime—remember the time when you used to lurk around town waiting for me and some other of my friends to be sacrificed in a creepy ancient ritual for the sake of your crazy evil brother, who you chickened out from killing at the very last minute?_

Yeah—_no_.

Luckily for her—and isn't Caroline _so_ lucky?—all of the originals have too proper manners to allow for such an awkward silence to be prolonged indefinitely, so, after a while, Elijah finally speaks. "There's no need to fret, Caroline. You have nothing to worry about. My sister will be here soon. Elena will be alright."

He sounds perfectly calm and composed—like they're sitting at a fancy dinner table enjoying a delightful meal in between polite exchanges of idle chit-chat. Not like what they're actually exchanging is the life and safety of her best friend for the desiccated corpse of his brother. Funny how over a thousand years of class and poise and perfectly well-educated mass-murder can teach you all you ever need to know about self-control and self-assurance, right? Meanwhile Caroline keeps on fretting, squirming under his gaze—the intensity of which doesn't ever relent. He looks at her with a mixture of curiosity and complacency that really, Caroline doesn't know what to do with. So she looks away and hides her eyes in the darkness of the black tree tops above her.

She can hear the rushing sounds of the nearby road like thunders reverberating in her chest. Does a coffin fit in the back of Rebekah's newly inherited SUV?

She shakes her head and refuses to picture that. Him. Dry and gray as ashes, trapped in a tiny box of pine. For some unfathomable reason, the aftertaste of the cheap sparkling wine she drank in celebration of his demise is creeping up her throat now, bitter as bile.

There is _no way_ this plan is working out. No way.

"Rebekah won't do it," she finally protests, quietly, but bearing no doubts that Elijah is listening intently to every word she speaks, to the rhythm of her faltering breathing as the words leave her mouth, to the uneven pattering of her heart. "She'll kill Elena the first chance she gets. If not, your younger brother will. Why wouldn't they?"

Really, Caroline wonders. Why wouldn't they? What do they care if Elena lives or dies? Why spend the next handful of decades running and hiding from a supernatural, super-strong hunter that could be killed as easily as one flicks a switch if only they went after the doppelganger? It's ridiculous. It's a stupid plan. It will _never_ work out.

Elijah turns to look at her properly, eyes soft and relaxed and dark and intense. "Kol will be deeply amused at the prospect of Nikklaus having a taste of his own medicine, I believe. Yes, Rebekah's temper will be more difficult to appease, I'm sure. Klaus is definitely her favourite and she'll scheme and fight tooth and nail to have him wake before due time, but do not worry, Caroline," his lips tug upwards, slightly, almost imperceptibly, "no one but me will ever known the exact location of my brother's resting place."

_Resting_ place—that's rich.

It shouldn't bother her, that Elijah is more than okay with hiding the horror of the whole endeavour under some flashy typically-original euphemism—not when only hours ago, Klaus's body was on his way to be buried at sea to rot away for as long as forever may take. It shouldn't bother her either that Elijah's seems way too overconfident when he speaks of controlling Rebekah. Like the crazy bitch's insane and erratic murderous impulses can actually be controlled. And it definitely shouldn't bother Caroline that the entire thing is presented as nothing but a morbid joke for the sake of the youngest brother. Seriously, do these people really do this kind of thing so regularly that having a sibling for a hundred and fifty years trapped in a coffin means so close to _nothing_ for them?

According to what little Stefan has explained to her, Elijah's reasoning for wanting Klaus's body was that, as brothers, they are supposed to remain together. Well, okay. Together. It makes sense. Together and _desiccated_, however—not so much, really—

—the thought comes fast and hard and unwarranted. Like a punch right into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her chest. What if—?

She turns to Elijah and asks him without thinking. "What if something happens to you?"

He returns her gaze, looking puzzled for a second, as if he actually couldn't understand the literal meaning of her words. Something happen to him? Like what? What could possibly happen to an original vampire that has lived for over a thousand years without a scratch? Well, for starters, Esther's vampire vampire-hunter is after him, very much determined to have him and his siblings burn to ashes forevermore. Caroline's ready to point this out to him, because it's certainly a possibility—when the words die in her throat at Elijah's expression. His whole face changes suddenly. From confused to the point of slight amusemet, his calm and composed features morph into a true expression of wonder as he slowly takes her in. He is looking at her so intently that Caroline is sure that he might be trying to read her mind, after all; searching into the deepest corners of whatever she may be hiding beneath her cheery, bubbly façade.

She looks away immediately, and takes a few steps ahead and away from him for good measure.

Honestly, what is she even doing? Where the hell is Rebekah? She needs the weird night-time get-away in the woods with the oldest original to be over soon—before she loses track of her own thoughts. So _what_ if something happens to Elijah? She doesn't know him—doesn't care one way or another that he lives or dies. So _what_ if he dies with the secret of wherever in the world Klaus's body will be hidden at the end of tonight? What does she care? Wasn't she drinking fake Champagne to the thought of Klaus being buried in the middle of the Atlantic, forever, only hours ago?

Tyler is waiting for her in the Lockwood cellar.

They're running away, together. The council is after them. Their lives are at risk and she is only exposing herself to a greater danger by helping make sure that the exchange that will supposedly guarantee Elena's safety goes as planned. She _really_ has no time or mental space left to worry about the fate of Elijah or any other member of a nearly-indestructible family of original vampires Caroline couldn't really care less about.

"I will find you."

The words cut through the rackety silence of the forest like a knife siding into a cup of butter, soft and smooth as an unexpected caress.

She turns around to look back at him, her brow wrinkled in confusion. She's surprised to see he's moved closer—even more so when she notices the gentle glint in his unexpectedly merry eyes. What does he mean, he'll find her? How is that an appropriate answer to her very inappropriate question about the possible yet greatly improbable chance that he might die in the next century and a half? She shakes her head, as if stupidly hoping she can set her thoughts in order that way and force it all to make a little more sense. It doesn't work of course, so she asks, kind of foolishly. "You will find me?"

He nods, his eyes moving away from her when the sound of a car screeching to a stop not half a mile away is heard through the murmur of rustling leaves in the woods. He doesn't move, but Caroline's heart jumps in her chest. They're here. She isn't sure of what happens now, but Elijah's relaxed demeanour somehow soothes her nerves, while they remain on the spot, only standing and waiting.

It's only seconds before he speaks again. "Nikklaus won't be happy," he says, and Caroline rolls her eyes.

Yeah—Klaus won't be happy. Understatement of the century right there. She can't imagine him being exactly thrilled that they tricked him into desiccation and left him dry as a rock to rot away for one hundred and fifty years while his precious doppelganger blood was wasted away while she lived a happy, fulfilling human life.

Lucky Elena, by the way.

But—wait a second.

Caroline turns to Elijah with the silent question evident in her eyes. Is he saying that he will look for her… to _warn_ her? So she can run and hide from Klaus? Does Elijah believe that Klaus will retaliate against everyone involved in his desiccation? Immediately, her dead heart starts pounding violently against her ribs. Figure that, really. Her running away from the council will be nothing but a very light training session for when the real running begins.

She knows Elijah can tell she's afraid. The signs are everything but subtle, after all. Her laboured, shallow breathing. The frantic beating of her heart. She has no doubt that he can see, hear and most certainly smell her fear. So what's up with the creepy smile splitting up his usually stony face?

Elijah's smiling unsettles her a great deal more than the prospect of having to run and hide away from Klaus for the rest of her life. She's honestly starting to believe it might not be worth it—the promise of safety for Elena in exchange for an expiration date to Klaus's confinement. In the end, they will have to pay for their transgression, the same way Katherine did. If you cross Klaus, he kills everyone you've ever met and then he spends forever hunting you. If they trap him for a century and half—that's only how long he'll prolong their punishment.

They have to back down—they have to retreat.

But the light steps coursing through the forest ground, barely crushing the dry leaves beneath—_Rebekah_—are only getting closer every second that passes by. There's no time left. There's no room to run. No space to backtrack. Nothing Caroline can do but shake in fear while Elijah—

—while Elijah actually chuckles.

"Caroline Forbes," he says, nodding at her with an unfamiliar twinkle in his eyes like she has just passed a test she didn't know she was taking, "I must admit this is a first. Of all the people I have known to have… _interacted_ with my brother, I do believe you're the first one I have seen go from frozenly terrified at the thought of never seeing him again to absolutely petrified to know that you will indeed see him again one day—and in just a matter of seconds. The latter, yes, I am more than used to people reacting that way. But the former?" His eyes soften as he allows her a second to fully understand what he's saying; then his lips tug at the corners of his mouth even more insistently. Really, it's an unflattering look on him. "My brother will be glad to know."

_My brother will be glad to know_.

Glad to know what, exactly? What can have made Elijah think that she's scared of never seeing Klaus again, really? It's crazy and stupid and ridiculous. Not two seconds ago, her entire undead body was trembling as a leave hanging from a thread-thin stem on any of the million trees that enclose them—and her fear was _all_ about seeing Klaus again, believe her. She scoffs, one hand nervously moving up to toss her curls over her shoulder, emphasizing her indignation at Elijah's implication. "Believe me," she hisses, not looking at him at all, "if I never see your brother again, it'll be too soon."

Elijah doesn't say anything. He doesn't make a sound—and before Caroline can think of something else to say to make it even more clear to him that he's oh, so hugely mistaken he doesn't even know—the tall, lean figure of Rebekah Mikaelson appears out of the darkness that surrounds the clearing where they are waiting. The pale moonlight seeping through the thick tree tops above illuminates her features enough to let them see the clear traces of tears running down her cheeks.

She flashes into Elijah's arms faster than Caroline's eyes can process her movement and, by the time Caroline realizes what's happening, she's become the lonely, awkward witness of a very private family moment. Rebekah's sobbing against Elijah's shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. She's repeating again and again, non-stop: "It isn't right, Elijah. This isn't right."

Is it? Right?

Yes, Caroline tells herself. It _is_ right. Elijah knows. Caroline knows. And, deep down, Rebekah must know as well, or she'd found a way to run away from Damon to have Elena killed with a snap of her fingers. Their mother's creature would be dead, then. They'd be free. Klaus would be furious that he wouldn't be able to make any more hybrids—but Rebekah always hated that her brother was providing himself with a back-up family. Everyone knew that. It would be over, if she killed Elena—but it would be _war_.

The Salvatores wouldn't ever forget—they wouldn't ever forgive.

Rebekah slowly pulls away from her brother's embrace, sniffing quietly and drying her tears before turning around to look at Caroline, her eyes hard and cold and shining like diamonds. "I hope that you and your friends understand what we are doing for your stupid doppelganger," she says, speaking so low and firm there is no doubt in Caroline's mind that Rebekah is threatening them.

One misstep and the whole plan will backfire and all hell will break loose.

Caroline nods because, what else can she do? It'll be better for everyone, she knows, if she doesn't say a word and simply follows Elijah and Rebekah's way as they slowly but determinedly find the path that leads them back to the road—where Damon, Stefan and Klaus's black SUV are waiting form them.

Caroline's heart rate speeds up again, but she keeps on walking, her eyes steady as she greets Stefan with a little smile.

The back door of the SUV is wide open, the coffin exposed for them to see—and Caroline can't look away, no matter how much she wants to. Damon doesn't waste a minute before opening it and, before Caroline can even begin to prepare herself for the sight—before she can even think of looking away and hoping that no one will notice that she doesn't want to see it—silver moonlight washes over Klaus's lifeless corpse.

She gasps, loudly, and the breath that gets stuck in her throat burns all the way down into her stomach.

She shouldn't—

She doesn't—

She can't—

He's gray; ashen as if about to melt away—but looks stony as a rock. He's tightly wrapped in unbreakable iron chains, and she wants to ask what the chains are for if he's desiccated—when all of a sudden his eyes pop open without warning, as hard and gray and rock-like as his skin. The breath clotted in her throat pierces a searing hole down her chest, and she shudders in cold and unexpected pain.

She spits out the words before she can stop herself. "He's awake!"

Immediately, Elijah speeds to the car to close the coffin first and the back of the SUV immediately after. His eyes settle on Caroline, soft and kind and comforting. "Don't worry," he whispers, uselessly trying to calm her down. "He'll be alright."

Damon snorts. "Yeah," he says, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, "One could argue that's precisely the problem here."

Stefan quickly warns him to be quiet, throwing a pacifying glance at Rebekah before moving close to Caroline to rest a soothing hand on her shoulder. Without a second glance Rebekah walks to the front of the car, but Elijah stops her, flashing to her and grabbing her arm softly. He shakes his head. Rebekah frowns, Stefan nods, and Caroline doesn't really understand what's going on. She feels dizzy and strangely out of herself. She can't stop seeing it—seeing _him_—whether she closes her eyes or keeps them open. She hadn't known—she hadn't expected—

She knows he doesn't need to breathe—especially not in a state of desiccation. She _knows_ that. But keeping him awake and conscious for one hundred and fifty years, locked in a coffin, restrained with chains like a beast—

—that's _torture_.

She isn't naïve and she isn't stupid. She knows Klaus's favourite pastime is probably a much cruder and gory version of torture than simple confinement in a tiny, oxygen-free space. But aren't they supposed to be the _good_ guys?

Rebekah's words haunt her. _It isn't right, Elijah. This isn't right._ She can hear them as loud and clear as if they were coming out of her own mouth—so loud that she doesn't register that Stefan is talking to her until he cups her face in his hands, gently forcing her to look at him. "It's alright, Caroline," he is saying, his voice is tender and calmingly familiar. "Damon will take you and Rebekah home, okay? I'll go with Elijah so I can make sure that everything goes alright and we are safe."

Caroline nods, trying to shake off some of the confusion she feels twisting knots in her stomach. No—she can't go home. Tyler is waiting for her in the Lockwood cellar—she has to go to him. She won't tell that to Stefan, though. He doesn't need something else to worry about. She'll tell Damon and Rebekah and they'll understand why she can't go with them—that is, if Rebekah ever stops protesting, screaming and shouting at his brother for not letting her go with them to bury Klaus.

Bury Klaus. Bury him alive and awake—thirsty, rotting, in chains.

For one hundred and fifty years.

That is the deal they've made.

Stefan catches Caroline's eye before getting in the car, offering a small smile. Caroline returns it weakly before searching Elijah's gaze. He's finally managed to calm down Rebekah enough so that Damon can at least restrain her while she cries her goodbyes to her dearest brother Nik. Damon has no qualms reminding her of the times his brother has done exactly this and much worse to her over the centuries—and at last, as Demon's cruel words grow only more cruel, Rebekah gets distracted by attacking _him_ instead. And then, after one final quick look in his sister's direction, Elijah walks to stand by the driver's seat, eyes locked on Caroline's intently, like he wants her to understand something important before they go.

He won't be the only one who knows where Klaus will be hidden after all—in case something happens to him. He's letting Stefan know—someone who Caroline can trust. Someone who will respect the terms of the deal they've made, and the rules they all must abide by for the next one hundred and fifty years.

Until it's time to release Klaus.

Elijah's nods meaningfully at her over the roof of the black SUV, and even though he doesn't say word, Caroline has no trouble catching the unspoken message.

_I will find you._

Without stopping to think it twice, Caroline nods back at him.

She will be waiting.

~  
.tbc

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**Thank you so much for reading, guys! So... what do you think? Should I go back to just writing one-shots?**

**Next - One hundred and fifty years have gone by, but is Caroline ready to see Klaus again when Elijah unexpectedly comes knocking on her door?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: First of all, thank you thank you thank you for the interest shown in this story. Your comments and reviews mean the world to me, as well every follow and favourite. You are unbelievable!**

**I forced myself to finish this today, so you could all have something nice in this terrible, terrible day. Hope it helps – even a little bit.**

**And a warning: I should have mentioned before – this fic contains Stefan/Rebekah. Sorry if you don't like it – but I can't help myself, and today is also a very sad day for Stefan/Rebekah shippers, so. I hope you all enjoy this.**

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**Chapter 1**

Her head is pounding; her throat thick and rough as sandpaper. She rolls onto her back, squeezing her eyes shut when bright rays of sunlight assault her abused senses. She groans loudly, for once not caring about bad language as she manages to protest, "Why the fuck is the sun shining? Have we travelled back in time or something?"

_Really_. Not that this part of the world was ever that sunny, but come _on_. Actually yellow sunlight?

Not until the warm body lying next to her dares shush her, Caroline notices that she's not alone in bed. Oh. Great.

It's late, Caroline is sure; possibly past noon, judging by the unusual bright lights seeping through the glass walls—the kind that let the light in, in those rare days when the sunrays manage to filter through the thick coat of ashes that covers the biggest part of the Northern hemisphere; but aren't actually see-through. That would be inconvenient, Caroline imagines, especially given the present awkward circumstances. She's barely conscious yet and impossibly hung-over, so it takes her a couple of seconds longer than it should have to realize that, even though there is definitely someone in bed with her, she's still fully clothed. Well, as fully as her New Year's Eve mini-dress can be considered—but still. Thank goodness for small mercies, right? She only hopes now that whoever went home with her last night isn't actually human—please please _please_ let it not be human—or she's pretty sure he isn't going to get much of chance at the walk of shame, after all.

Bummer, really.

Gathering both fake breath and courage, she tentatively reaches with her arms, her eyes still closed to protect her poor sore, alcohol-drenched brain from the biting sunlight. The body in her bed is cold (oh God, please no, but—hasn't he shushed her?) but also soft and lean and—_what_? Despite the pain and the numbness in her limbs—it's been a while since Caroline died, but she's fairly sure this horror is exactly what being alive felt like—she knows she would have jumped to the ceiling in shock if the familiar scent of Rebekah hadn't reached her nostrils right in the exact moment in which she had started wondering just how _much_ she'd actually drunk last night.

"Ugh, stop poking me."

Yup, definitely Rebekah, and judging by the thick, rough sound of her voice, she doesn't seem to be feeling a lot better than Caroline, which is kind of weird, in truth, because Rebekah is a lot older than Caroline, and it usually takes even more liquor to take her down. But hey, no judgements. It's once a year after all, and this is a very special year—

—nope, not thinking about that just yet.

She turns to face Rebekah instead, finally daring to open her eyes and look at her. She takes comfort in the biting headache for a moment, as it helps her not thinking about it. She doesn't want to think about it. Wasn't the whole point of last night _not_ to think about it? Both for her and for Rebekah—Stefan had just tagged along, the way he usually does, being the sweetheart that he is. Which promptly reminds Caroline—"Where's Stefan?"

Rebekah stretches her arms over her head, her own pearl-coloured mini-dress rising quite scandalously over her hips. "I think he passed out on the couch," she grunts.

Caroline frowns. "So you decided to sleep with me instead?"

Rolling her eyes into the back of her head, Rebekah sits up, painstakingly slowly—like every muscle in her body hurts which is simply not possible unless she accidently drunk werewolf poison—

¬—damn it. Bad train of thought. Again.

"You needed a friend last night, Caroline."

Her eyes are unusually soft, even though she can't open them completely. She doesn't need to add, _and so did I_, so Caroline can understand. It's been one hundred and fifty years, hasn't it? Caroline has gotten to know Rebekah quite well. So she nods at her and offers a small smile as she stands up from the bed, taking a few deep steady breaths while she waits for the world to stop spinning madly around her. "Right," she finally says, remembering. "We fell asleep talking our hearts out."

Like true girlfriends.

Rebekah chuckles, and with a detached wave of her hand she leaves Caroline's room, calling Stefan's name into the darkened hallway, like she believes him to be hiding from her or something. Caroline knows she should hit the shower, and fast, but she also knows that there is no way her headache is ever going away unless she feeds, so she chooses to follow Rebekah into their living room where, as easily predicted, Stefan is waiting for them—two mugs of steaming hot blood in his hands, ready to be devoured for breakfast.

The blood, that is. Not Stefan. But didn't Caroline mention he was a sweetheart? She only hopes that the blood isn't the tasteless synthetic kind he drinks as part of his eternal twelve-step program—or she'll have to kill him.

It isn't, thank God. Well, of course it isn't. The blood is not exactly fresh—but it's warm and tasty and very clearly human. Rebekah would probably have his head if he tried to give them any of the stuff he drinks, and instead of passionate murder in the morning, she's kissing him with lips still red with blood, arms wrapped loosely around his waist while he nudges her neck and takes a sip from her mug. Like it's okay as long as she's holding him. Caroline doesn't really know the details on how they deal with Stefan's little control problem, but it seems to be working out. She's a great sponsor, really, but Stefan and Rebekah's weird blood-play habits are way too much information for her poor sensitive undead heart. She'd rather just watch them from a safe distance and revel in the fact that their thing is—well, it's cute.

Really. It's cute.

Caroline isn't jealous—honestly, why would she be? —that her friends are in love and actually have been for quite a long time now and it certainly looks like it might be the real deal—the forever, come-what-may, everlasting kind of love, and ugh, isn't she a complete sap? She's happy for her friends. Period. Rebekah is impulsive and sort of insane at times and no one would've ever guessed that she'd be the perfect match to keep both, Stefan's ripper-personality and Stefan's brooding personality at a minimum but hey, it works, somehow. Shut up. Stefan is happy and Rebekah is happy and Caroline is happy—

The doorbell rings, (at last!) jerking Caroline out of her stupid spiralling thoughts¬—only to plunge her into the deepest corners of uncertainty and suspicion. Neurotic much?

Well, she's pretty sure she isn't expecting anyone and, given the questioning expressions in Rebekah and Stefan's faces, neither are them. Possibly because they _never_ expect anyone, and Caroline very much doubts that anyone actually knows where they live. It's not like they're hiding or anything, but the only bridges still standing—except well, Damon, who doesn't exactly visit that often—are Rebekah's and it's not like _her_brothers like to hang around much.

Like, maybe once or twice in the century. Maybe.

Kol is always on the move—they have seen him sometimes, but barely in passing—and Elijah is basically a ghost. He manages to never be there, and somehow always be present. The bastard. Somehow he always manages to crawl his way into their thoughts and conversations without ever showing his face and ugh, ugh, ugh. Unfair. Rebekah has shed many more tears over the decades than Caroline finds acceptable, heartbroken over the fact that her family has managed to fall apart, again. It's sad and messed up.

Pretty obvious to Caroline that it is the kind of thing that happens to a family when one starts carrying coffins around, holding in chains the desiccated corpse of the absentee sibling.

Imagine that family reunion for just a second. Kol and Elijah and Rebekah sitting at the dinner table, sharing anecdotes and small talk, pretending there is no gigantic pink elephant in the room in the form of the brother that is not there—because they bargained with his life to protect a human girl, now long gone, who, rumour has it, Elijah had been sort of in love with. Or so Rebekah says.

It would have ended in blood and fratricide and someone breaking a very fragile deal that they all had promised to keep.

Better just to wait it out until they all could be together again.

So—

—_of course_ it's Elijah standing at the other side of the door.

But it's January 1st!

She couldn't have been _that_ drunk to have slept off the past eight months of her life, could she?

Because, the thing is—there is only one reason why Elijah should be here, standing in the doorstep of Caroline's apartment. But no—it _can't_ be. It's too soon, isn't it? They still got months left—months to prepare and get ready for the inevitable. Months to decide if maybe it's time for Caroline to part ways with Rebekah and Stefan, just for a short while. Go back home, perhaps, even if they've only been in Europe for a little over a decade, and most of the time they've spent it in their little cosy apartment in this lovely little Essex town that nobody really pays any attention to.

Months ahead to change her mind—

Stefan lets Elijah in with a quiet nod, muttering back, "Happy New Year," when Elijah greets them with the best wishes for the year and a confident smile. Immediately Rebekah hugs him tightly, closing her eyes and ignoring his questioning gaze as notices what she's wearing—or _not_ wearing. Oh, great. Caroline still has left the little dignity required to feel ashamed at her own state of disarray—the black mini-dress, the messy slick curls, and what she is sure are horrendous black traces of mascara tainting her cheeks. Lovely. She's tempted to flash out of the open front door really—and for a second or two she considers it, but then Stefan closes the door, and Elijah—dressed impeccable in a black suit, of course, like the years haven't passed by him at all—finally looks at her, gluing her to the floor where she stands just by setting his intense dark eyes on her.

That's how powerful Elijah Mikaelson's stare truly is.

And then, he speaks. "Hello, Caroline. It's a pleasure to see you again."

His voice is just as Caroline remembers it, too: soft and warm and steady and reposed. She's only talked to him—_really_talked to him—once in a century and a half, but she has never forgotten that conversation, awkward and brief as it was. It changed her life, she knows—it changed her definitively and irreparably. She hadn't known it at the time, not really. But she knows it now. It's become more than obvious after one hundred and fifty years worth of waiting—waiting for this very moment. Right here. Right now.

There's little Caroline can do but stutter a clumsy, "Hello," and bury her face in her blood mug until there's not one drop left. Then, with as courteous a nod as she is capable of, she excuses herself before disappearing into her bedroom. _Now_ she will take a shower and find something proper to wear—no harm in that, right? She'll give the siblings and the in-law some time to reconnect and catch up and, with some luck, she'll manage to find her own breath back underneath a curtain of searing hot water that, she hopes, will help ease out the twists and knots that the long night has carved in her back muscles.

She can hear Rebekah's squeals of joy as she peels off her dress—"Is it time? Is it time? Where is he? Can I go with you? Please tell me we're waking him up, Elijah, please!"—so she rushes to the shower as fast as she can move, drowning the screeching noises of Rebekah's exhilaration beneath the heavy rush of hot water.

_Is it time?_

Is it _really_ time?

She deliberately loses track of time. She forces her mind to go blank; her ears to lose themselves in the white noise of the shower pouring down on her, the humming that trembles in the back of her throat. _Anything_ to shut down the conversation seeping in from the living room—the details of what happens now. Elijah's terms and Stefan's precautions and Rebekah's impatience. She loses herself in a white thought and doesn't surface until she's done with a very long self-encouraging peep talk because, damn it, she hasn't lived as a vampire for over one hundred and fifty years for nothing, has she? She refuses to let the years be in vain—they were _not_ in vain. She is a grown up vampire now, thank you very much. She isn't afraid. She isn't neurotic _much_. She doesn't shy away from confrontation and she doesn't run and she most certainly doesn't hide in the shower to try and make the world outside disappear.

Because really, if it hasn't disappeared already—after the things she has seen in the last century and a half—it surely isn't going to disappear now simply because Caroline wants it to. And also—

—she really doesn't want it to.

Truth be told.

So with a deep breath and her head held up high she steps out of the shower and rushes to get dressed before she loses her nerve, quickly finding her way into _her_ living room and sitting on a chair like the matter of discussion around the dinner table is as simple and mundane as this week's grocery list. Smiling cheerfully, immediately she opens her mouth to speak and greet Elijah properly this time, but before she can even begin to form the words, Rebekah cuts her off. "We're waking Nik tonight," she says, eyebrows raised as if deifying Caroline to actually dare and protest.

But Caroline doesn't protest. Scratch that—_can't_ protest. She squeezes her eyes shut for just a millisecond to remind herself that she already knew this, well, not the _tonight_ part but why else would Elijah be here if not to—she _knows_ what year they're in. The whole 'let's drink till we pass out' plan was because of that, after all. She's ready. No, actually, she's not—but it doesn't matter because you see, she doesn't have to be ready if she doesn't want to be ready. It's not exactly her business that they're waking up Klaus now, is it? She opens her eyes and keeps the bright smile plastered on her face for even a shorter millisecond, before it fades and crumbles and disappears. The image of him, gray as ashes and hard as stone assaults her once again. It's branded in her lids—has been there since fucking _always_, and huh, screw being polite. She can't help herself as she stands up from the table, shooting Rebekah an evil glare. "He's not exactly asleep, is he?"

_Waking Nik tonight_. The _nerve_ of these people, really.

His stony eyes snapping open and looking at her—ashen and desiccated but so very awake—is yet another sight that haunts her. She tries to shake it off as she opens the fridge to find nothing but cold, tasteless bottled blood and _damn_. She opens one and takes it to her mouth and crunches her whole face while the liquid pours down, rushing down her throat.

The stuff is disgusting, but it does the job.

So she turns around with a smile. "Can I offer you something to drink, Elijah?"

Maybe she can be angry _and_ polite, after all.

But her little stunt gets her no points. Elijah's cold smile remains unshrinking in its courtesy. "No, thank you, Caroline. I am fine. As I was telling my sister and Stefan, it will be done tonight." But then, his eyes soften noticeably as he appraises her, and his commanding voice bends with surprising tenderness when he adds, "It's time."

Caroline doesn't want to nod like she agrees, but what else can she do?

It's time. Fine. Whatever.

What does he want from her, anyway? He said he'd let her know—technically he said he'd find her and yes, obviously she didn't make it that hard for him, sticking with his sister for the best part of her entire freaking life, but still. He's done what he said he'd do and honestly Caroline doesn't know whether she should be grateful or pissed off, but her gut feeling is making her hostile. Maybe it's the lack of a _real_ meal to break her fast after a very rough night, but she isn't feeling very cooperative for some mysterious reason. What else can she say to Elijah besides the very—perhaps excessively, okay—belligerent yet surely uninvited, "So?" that jumps its way out of her mouth?

Elijah doesn't seem surprised or impressed in any way after her very blatantly fake nonchalance, but Rebekah actually frowns, like she genuinely doesn't understand why Caroline isn't joining her merry ride. Stefan drops his gaze to the table, most likely to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It's weirdly sympathetic, and Caroline almost smiles back.

But Elijah speaks again. "Fair enough," he says, somehow still smiling politely; his voice lingers in the living room for a while after every word he says—that's how deep and soft his tone is. "As I was telling Stefan, my brother is currently resting in a hidden vault in the catacombs of Edinburgh. We'll take the high-speed and reach the city in a blink. You're both invited to come along, of course—Kol is already there, assuring that Nikklaus will be provided the sustenance he'll require after we rouse him. You can either join us in the vault, or stay in our property in Old Town. You'll be quite comfortable there until we return."

Again with the 'resting' bullshit! He isn't resting at all!

Caroline wants to scream, but she finds she can't even whisper. Elijah speaks very calmly and there's no defying him. He speaks slowly, as usually—slowly enough that even in her less than ideal state of absolute and rather unjustified indignation, Caroline has no trouble processing all the information he is carefully providing. A short trip in the high-speed. Edinburgh. She's actually never been to Edinburgh but really, of course Klaus is buried in the dingy entrails of some ancient hallowed city, carved inside out with death-brimming catacombs. Did Stefan know? Caroline looks his way only to find him looking at her with an unasked question in his eyes. He's letting her call the shots. Typical Stefan. She knows that Elijah let Stefan know of Klaus's whereabouts at the beginning but once he and Rebekah got involved… Elijah's probably too much of a caring, noble, moralistic gentleman to put Stefan in such an awkward position. Besides, Caroline's almost certain that Elijah has been moving Klaus's body around for as long as he has remained desiccated—it surely wasn't too hard to simply stop telling Stefan where he was taking Klaus after Stefan's commitment to secrecy became compromised. It's not simply enduring Rebekah's pouts and bratty tantrums after all—she's an original. She can get in Stefan's head with as much effort as it takes her to blink.

Why are they friends with these people again?

"So? Are you coming or not?"

Rebekah's insistent stare puts Caroline out of her thoughts but really, _why_ are they friends? She's leaning on the counter, rolling the empty blood bottle in one of her hands. Stefan, Rebekah and Elijah are all looking at her from where they're sitting around the kitchen table, and, after she doesn't answer, Elijah offers her another smile, this one slightly warmer. It immediately sets Caroline on edge, afraid now of what he may say. He certainly notices, because he drops the smile almost immediately, growing serious as he speaks again, his eyes moving from Stefan to Caroline alternatively. "You both know my brother, so I'm sure it won't come as a surprise when I warn you that there is no way to predict what he'll do when he's released. Before you make a decision, you should know we are not taking any extra measures to restrain him, should his temper get the better of him. We kept the deal as promised but, as of today, the terms are off."

Seriously, what Caroline wouldn't give right now for a stupid hot vampire groupie to let her borrow his jugular.

Is this a good time to remind Elijah that it has not been one hundred and fifty years yet? Not exactly. Not _completely_. She could say so; she could protest. She could kick and scream and shout and run and hide and a lot of many other stupid childish things she isn't going to do. Because she is one hundred and sixty seven years old. She doesn't run and she doesn't pout and most important of all she doesn't _care_. Elijah has kept his promise—to Stefan, and to herself. A few months give or take aren't going to make any difference, and Caroline is under no obligation to go with them.

Yet—

She's never been to Edinburgh, and she's heard wonderful things of its history. Cobbled streets and winding alleyways—the great medieval castle; the nightlife.

Really, in a scale of one to Damon Salvatore—how full of shit is she?

She looks at Stefan because she knows he isn't going to leave her alone. Not now. Not ever. They've been together every step of the way and if she decides to stay in Essex, or to catch a plane and go back home or maybe to Australia or whatever end of the world she chooses, because if she stays here today, then she is officially hiding—he's going to stay and hide with her. He's going to have to choose between her and Rebekah and the ugly truth is, Caroline is completely alone in the world. There's no real choice. Stefan will stay with her and Caroline doesn't want—

—she doesn't want to be alone and she doesn't want to lose Rebekah as a friend and doesn't want to run from Klaus.

Still, she asks Stefan, because she has to: "What do you say?"

He makes it known, in case there were any doubts. "It's your choice, Caroline."

It's her choice. It's not safe, she knows. Elijah has warned her. And being completely honest, she isn't really in love with the idea of following the original family into the deepest catacomb of an ancient city to resurrect an insanely murderous original hybrid who, for all she knows, may have only become even more insanely murderous after the time he's spent locked in a box. It's only natural and she doesn't want to see it—doesn't want to see _him_ after one hundred and fifty years of desiccation, gray and stony and _so_ dead. She can very well picture the trail of dead bodies—strong men and young healthy women—lying on the ground after he has drained the life out of them. To be restored. To regain his strength. To fill his dead veins with fresh blood so he can go back to being sort of alive.

It's what they do, after all. It's what they are.

It's won't be a one-time kind of thing, either. He hasn't fed for one hundred and fifty years and, after such long an absence, Caroline's sure his enemies are growing suspicious at his prolonged absence—even if historically he has learned how to keep a low profile; never been found unless he wanted it so. Klaus finds you—never the other way around. But after one century and a half spent being merely a ghost, a name whispered in the shadows; slipping back into the days most thought him to be but a legend—he can't afford the luxury of being weakened by hunger if he plans to make a come-back.

Not to mention the anger at their betrayal.

Caroline's stomach clenches painfully, and it might be dread or sick anticipation or the awful synthesized blood she just gulped down like her life depended on it, but the pain shocks her still fairly numb system into making a decision. She holds Stefan's gaze in hers for just a second, nodding firmly before turning her eyes to Elijah. "We'll stay at your place," she finally says.

She bites down against her tongue the rest of what she meant to say. _Until it's safe_. She isn't fooling herself with that sort of bullshit, is she? It won't be safe—unless Klaus wishes to make it safe for them, which on bare instincts—dark, animal, _vampire_ instincts, she wants to think—Caroline is trusting will be the case, after a bit (or a lot) of persuasion. Klaus surely won't will them without demanding an explanation first, right? And really, the fact that she's willing to hide away in _his_ house should be proof enough that she isn't afraid.

She's not the kind of girl who gets so easily scared. She never was. Especially not around him.

Reckless? Imprudent? Overconfident? Stupid? Call it animal instinct and let her be.

Caroline has learned to trust it over the decades.

So she adds a confident smile, as an after thought—and somehow manages to feel her heart swell despite the bad blood she's drunk at the sight of Rebekah's happy face. She can feel it tingling in the air—the joy and excitement. How Rebekah is so ridiculously ecstatic at the thought of seeing her brother again that she hasn't even contemplated the thought that he might not be so happy to see her after the deal they made with his enemies. Or maybe Rebekah has actually thought about it, but after over a thousand years, there's really nothing Klaus can do to her that will catch her off-guard.

How Caroline wishes she could feel the same.

"Good," Elijah says, standing up. He looks satisfied, the hint of moderate happiness barely twisting his lips—but there is no sign of Rebekah's effervescent enthusiasm in his cool façade. After a few seconds he adds, the command firm and unquestionable, "We leave in half an hour."

In a flash Rebekah disappears into her and Stefan's room, and in a second Caroline can hear the deaf sounds of drawers being torn from their hinges and falling heavily on the floor. She cringes as Rebekah screams, "All the clothes I have in that morbid dirty town are from the freaking eighteenth century, Elijah! I can't pack in half an hour, are you crazy?"

Shaking his head, yet grinning like he wouldn't have her any other way, Stefan follows her into the room, not before squeezing Caroline's shoulder in a genuine gesture of support. "You can buy anything you need when we get there, Beks," he says as he disappears from their view. "Take it easy."

Unexpectedly amused, Caroline raises her eyebrows and offers Elijah a sympathetic smile before turning away to go and pack a few essentials. She's not obscenely rich like Rebekah—she won't be getting herself a new wardrobe when they set foot in Edinburgh, but —

—here's to hoping they'll back home soon.

~  
tbc.

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**Thanks for reading as always! I hope you liked it – and don't worry, Klaus and Caroline will interact soon.**

**A fair warning: **_I'm posting this as I write. I'll try to update regularly, but the frequency will depend on my mood and inspiration. There won't be a plot to this, beyond getting Klaus and Caroline together, so I don't predict this will be too long. I have already planned the next few chapters, and it is my intention to finish it, but I must warn you, as a fic writer, I'm fuelled by canon. I am now worried that if bad actually comes to worse, given recent news, I might be unable to keep on writing this pairing – due to some serious sad feelings over the fate of Klaus/Caroline._

_But... on the bright side, I'm already writing a bit of a fix-it ficlet about New Orleans in my head, so I hope I can have a one-shot soon to help us all feel better. Here's too hoping we get happy news soon._

**Thanks again for reading! It does mean the world to me!**


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: Hello! First of all and as always, thank you thank you thank you very much for your continued kindness and support. Hearing that you're liking this story (as well as God Save the King of New Orleans!) means a lot to me and it certainly encourages me to keep writing.**

**I hope this chapter will not disappoint... much ;) And once again thanks for giving this story a chance. I know how much amazing KC fic is out there so that you're finding time to read this makes me really grateful!**

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**Chapter 2**

It's been a week.

A whole goddamned _fucking_ week, and Caroline is right where she was when the whole mess started—in bed with Rebekah, only in a new wonderful city she really can't get to enjoy as, you see, she isn't sure going out is really a the _best_ idea. So lying in bed with Rebekah is it! Honestly, if at least she had managed to interest Caroline in some of _that_ over the years, she had something else to do with her nerves besides fidgeting and anguishing and sneaking into her friend's bedroom in the morning, very much uninvited, because turns out, she's a very impatient person and she's anxious and for goodness' sake, how can Rebekah be such a shameless late sleeper?

Isn't she worried at all?

Nervously biting her lip, Caroline rolls on her side to properly look at Rebekah. She hasn't opened her eyes but Caroline is sure that she's only pretending to be asleep in the off chance that she will leave, so none of that. For what feels like the millionth time since Kol and Rebekah returned from the vault empty-handed, she asks again: "Should I run?"

Rebekah's lazy yawn morphs into a frustrated groan somewhere in the middle. "Caroline! Ugh, will you relax and leave me alone? Nik will be back soon, I'm sure, and he isn't going to hurt you of all people. Go back to sleep."

Yeah, of course. Easier said than done.

They've told her a thousand times, Rebekah, Stefan and Elijah. It's a good thing that Klaus ran—he transformed and howled and ran away and no one in the house has seen or heard a thing, but no one holds the tiniest doubt that a particularly rabid wolf is out there somewhere massacring entire towns all across the High Lands. Isn't that a matter for celebration? He's taking his anger out somewhere else, and hey, Caroline dated a hybrid for a while a good one hundred and fifty years ago. She knows how it goes. She understand why after one century and a half spent buried alive, one may need to speed away and spend as much time running in the bitter cold wind across thick dark forests, hunting and feeding and whatever _other things_ wolves might feel like doing when their animalistic urges kick in and they just their silly human inhibitions go. Not that Klaus strikes her as the kind to have many inhibitions, but—she digresses, and she isn't going _there_. It's a good thing that he ran and that is all. Caroline knows that and hey, it's okay, but she misses her little _not-ancient_ home and then there's also the hole in her stomach the size of a cannonball—the anticipation, eating her inside out like she's a pumpkin emptied out for Halloween.

"He really didn't say anything?"

"Caroline," Rebekah says again, biting her lip in a very blatant sign of annoyance, "I've told you a million times already, for heaven's sake. He didn't say a single word. He just devoured the girls until he was sated and then he snarled and growled and roared, the usual deal, I supposed. He slapped us with his illegitimacy the way he likes to do when he's feeling sorry for himself. Believe me, I wish I'd never had to see my brother turn like one of those vulgar mutts, but I know what he is and I accept it, even when it disgusts me. I don't love him any less for being the disgusting git he is and, like we've all told you a thousand times over, it really wasn't so bad. He didn't attack us and he—"

"He didn't say anything to you, either! After one hundred and fifty years!"

Caroline doesn't understand it. What kind of family is this? One century and a half without seeing each other, and they don't say a world. Apparently, none of the siblings had said much to Klaus, either, unwilling to piss him off any further. They all said they had been expecting him to go on a typical Nikklaus Mikaelson trade-mark rant any second, the way he was prone to when people disappointed him. But it seems like, as Rebekah had said, he had been even more angry (more _hurt_, a little voice whispers in Caroline's head) than they were expecting. Instead of screaming and shouting, he had chosen to show his siblings the side of him they so rarely liked to think about. The part of him that didn't belong. The part of him that was different and alone—

—it's heartbreaking really, if one stops and thinks about the poor villagers who are surely paying the price all over the country. But clearly no skin off Rebekah's nose, who's now stretching on the floor on her lilac silk pajamas like she doesn't have a care in the world. (And Caroline would rather not think about Klaus's hybrid-ness because she knows that is one conversation that is coming—one she doesn't particularly want to have just yet—or _ever_.)

"We're going out today," Rebekah says with unflinching determination after a few seconds of silent exercising (like she needs it!), her head awkwardly popping out beneath a rubber elbow she has bent around her shoulders. "You need some clothes of your own, your hips are wider than mine and you're stretching my new trousers—"

—"Excuse me!?"—

—"and you need to unclench some of that tension, too. Full spa experience? We'll get a massage and a manicure and a pedicure and—" Her brows pull tight on her forehead while she stares up at Caroline from beneath her bended knee—"Are you one of those vampires who needs waxing? We'll get that done too, in case my brother comes home soon, and maybe a facial too if you—"

There's a fancy stiletto conveniently forgotten on the carpet. It finds its way right into the small of Rebekah's bowed back before she can finish the sentence, but she barely feels the blow, and the damage to Caroline's dignity is already done and pretty much irreversible. So she lets herself fall back on the bed and closes her eyes to Rebekah's devious smirk, enjoying how the old, yet ridiculously comfortable mattress tries to swallow her whole. She relaxes, and the words slide down her tongue before she can stop them: "I am _not_ sleeping with your brother."

That is so far off—_really_—that Caroline can't even entertain the thought.

She _won't_ entertain the thought. No way. It's ridiculous, for God's sake. She hasn't seen the guy in one hundred and fifty years which is like, her whole life. And it's not like they were exactly close before she helped in the chain of decisions leading up to his desiccation. They like… danced twice. That's pretty much all. He bought her a few expensive gifts and drew a picture for her and that's it. Nothing really intimate or even genuine, right? Except that one time when she was dying and she bit him and he said… things. Things she had been happy to blame as the reason why she's here today, waiting for him to return to world of the living (kind of), sitting on her hands in his family's house—one hundred and fifty years later! Because, guess what?

She is that lonely, deep down; and her life is that empty and pathetic when it comes to, you know, the thrill and everlasting excitement he once promised to her without so many words.

No exhilarating adventures of any kind, really. No genuine beauty and not that many great cities. She has to make do with Rebekah's constant companionship and warm laughter—at Caroline's expense, mind you—when she lies on the bed by her side once again, sincerely amused that Caroline can be naïve enough to say that she will not be sleeping with the devil anytime soon.

Oh. Look at that. She just made it a matter of _time_.

"It'd do you good, you know?" Rebakah beams. "You do need to relax, Care-Bear."

Caroline snorts. Yeah—that's a great reason to go to bed with the most dangerous creature in the world. Relaxation. And after one hundred and fifty years, really. She shouldn't even remember his stupid face—she barely knew him! Her indignant half-laugh transforms into a pained groan as she turns to look at her Rebekah, helplessly lifting her hands in barely-repressed aggravation. "I don't get it!" she finally admitted, "It's been _so_long—"

"Since you got laid?"

"What? No, Rebekah! Shut _up_. You know that's not—" She squeezes her eyes shut, sharp awkward memories from the less than fortunate last time she had been with a man of her own kind haunting her, right now when she needs it the least. She shakes them off with a puff. "That's _it_, isn't it? Why do all the people in the last one hundred and fifty years suddenly don't matter at all? Well, it was fun, I had fun! But they never really mattered, and yet everything that happened then, back home—"

"Yes," Rebekah agrees, her voice softer, the bitter humour faded completely. "It's the very beginning of your life as a vampire that you never forget. Once you get used to the feeling, you lose all perception of time, and it just… rushes you by."

Caroline sighs. "It feels like it was yesterday, you know? I remember so clearly. I was so in love with Matt—"

Rebekah's demeanour hardens immediately at the mention of Matt. "We've been through this, Caroline, a million times over."

"Yeah, I know, but… why is it so important? That I loved Matt and by the time he loved me too I was already dead? That I was still hung up on him when I started sleeping with Tyler—that the first time Tyler told me he loved him was the night that he bit me? The night that Klaus—"

"The night that my brother saved you, yes Caro—"

"No!" She sits up, overwhelmed by misplaced anger. "He didn't save me! He almost had me killed!"

He also saved her. Both things are true at the same time. That was always the problem.

"Not _again_, Caroline, please. Come on," Rebekah says, sitting up herself. "The sauna in the spa centre will help you see things more clearly."

Maybe just to annoy her, pissed at Rebekah's very much _fake_ nonchalance, Caroline lets herself fall back on the bed. It's so soft, really—why would she want to get in a steamy smelly sauna anyway? Sweating is gross, and it prickles, and it doesn't come that easily to a vampire, so—no way. Now, a massage—but _no_. The nagging voice in her head simply refuses to shut up. What if he comes back? What if Elijah and Stefan come back with news and they aren't here and they are _bad_ news? No—Caroline would rather stay in the house, for the time being. The momentary relaxation that she would get out of a self-indulgent shopping spree is not worth enduring the dirty polluted rain and the cutting cold weather she cannot really feel, but which certainly depresses her—

"Honestly!" She is fuming inside out, and she _hates_ it. "I am perfectly adjusted to the new world order, aren't I? I understand the problem of overpopulation and the risks and consequences of the environmental crisis it has provoked. I know all about the many imbalances in the food chain and that we too are facing extinction like all those hundreds of thousand of animal species. I totally get what needs to be done. I feed from humans, don't I? I don't have any family or human friends anymore and I understand that I am _not_ human. So tell me, _why_ in the world haven't I forgotten?"

Why?

Why hasn't she forgotten how she used to feel back then—the constant confusion, the doubts and hesitation; the old undying habit of always second-guessing herself. After that terrible mess with Damon, she had truly loved Matt—but he hadn't loved her back until it was too late. She was already dead. She had tried to make it work, but he had rejected what she had become. That had hurt her. She wasn't over it—over _him_–when she went to bed with Tyler the first time. Her good friend Tyler. She was horny all the time back then and so was he, so they started sleeping together and it had felt so good, but before it could even _begin_ to get real—

—Klaus came into town and everything fell to pieces.

Tyler was sired to him and it was all over, even if Caroline hadn't known it back then. Tyler had told her that he loved; told her that Klaus couldn't control him when it came to her, and then… he had bitten her.

Everything changed that night.

Klaus waltzed into her life on the night of her funeral and nothing was ever the same again for little Caroline Forbes. They all had said good bye to the girl that she had been, and Caroline had been ready to let go and follow her—little Caroline Forbes—into the other side—

—until Klaus sat on her bed and made her believe with just a handful of words that eternity was indeed worth living for, if only she let go of the many insignificant human conventions that kept her tied down to her old _human_ life.

It had been relatively easy at first, distinguishing between what remained of human Caroline and the new creature that was progressively replacing her. Human Caroline hated Klaus. Human Caroline knew that Klaus hadn't saved her life at all—that he was the one responsible for the damage done to her and, more importantly, to Tyler. Vampire Caroline however—she had bitten into Klaus's flesh and fed from his blood. She had felt_him_ surging through her veins, hot and eternal and exhilarating. Vampire Caroline had believed his words and longed for his promises of handing the world to her on a silver plate.

Vampire Caroline had wished for a new life—the new life that he had given her that night. Human Caroline had clung desperately to whatever ghosts and fading memories remained of her old one.

She was torn in two when she accepted Elijah's promise to find her.

Now she isn't torn anymore. Human Caroline does no longer exist—and yet she remains just as conflicted.

Perhaps, she muses, because she only knew Klaus back then, when she was split in two. She can't untangle her past dissociation from the memories of him.

"Caroline, why are you doing this to me?" Rebekah's voice comes muffled and cut-up from beneath the pillow she's using to try and smother herself. After a couple of futile attempts at feeling the lack of much unneeded oxygen, she desists, choosing to instead look at Caroline with her jaw clenched and a dangerous glint twinkling in her eyes. "Why are you going on about the environment now? I know you care, okay? Didn't I read that stupid thesis you wrote on the human ecocide like, one hundred years ago? What does _that_ have to do with anything? I thought we were discussing your sexual feelings for my brother."

"I don't have any sexual—"

"For all that is good and holly, _shut up_, Caroline!" Without even a fickler of a warning, Rebekah throws the pillow she had been digging holes into with her nails right against the wall, hard and impossibly fast, like it's a lethal kind of projectile. The room immediately fills with floating feathers, but sensing the annoyance coming off Rebekah in violent hot waves, Caroline knows better than to say a word. "You know I can't leave you unsupervised, so I can't just grab my purse and storm off to go and have a _little_ fun while we wait for my annoying brother to bother gracing us with his irritating presence, but please, if I must stay here and hear you whine, at least show me some respect and spare me the bull crap."

Umm…

O-kay.

It's not bull crap, though. Having _sexual_ feelings for Klaus at this moment would be the least of her problems, really. If those feelings existed.

Yet as she tries to relax on the bed while Rebakah recovers her usual breathing rhythm after her very unjustified tantrum, if you ask Caroline—she realizes that she has to throw Rebekah a bone to restore the peace. So she says, her voice as light and cheery as she can make it, "You're right. I shouldn't worry, I knew your brother for like—what? Five minutes? For all we know he doesn't even remember me. He's lived a billion years, so really—"

"Oh, I remember you, sweetheart."

_Oh_.

The low deep voice rumbling across the mist of floating feathers is undoubtedly coming from the doorstep of Rebekah's room—towards where Caroline doesn't dare move her eyes, not yet—but it feels as if the words have painfully dug their way inside out from the deepest and darkest corner of her soul. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries breathing deeply to try and focus her head—

"Nik!"

—but finds that she can't when Rebekah jumps from the bed with such enthusiasm that she almost tips the mattress over, unceremoniously sending Caroline on a roll towards the very end of the bed. With the grace of a limping duck, she barely manages to stand, one hand holding the bed post to keep her anchored as her head spins and her heart panders madly while the other nervously combs her hair down, just in time to see Rebekah—

—_attack_ Klaus.

Great. No, really. _Great_. More violence.

"Why the hell did you do that? I was worried _sick_, Nikklaus!" She glowers, hitting his chest again and again with tiny fisted hands as he tries to pin her wrists down while jumping from one foot to the other to dodge Rebekah's incessant kicking. It would be funny—well, no. It _is_ funny, once Caroline manages to clear her head enough to realize that Klaus is actually smiling and not snarling at his sister.

Caroline doesn't laugh yet, just in case.

"Glad to see you missed me, Bekah. All these one hundred and fifty years I was lying in a box and you were doing nothing to get me out of it."

"That's not true, Nik! Elijah wouldn't' let me—"

He cuts her off with quite the unexpected gesture: his smile deepens and his hands rise in surrender. "I know, I know. It's nothing I hadn't coming for the way I treated you, dear."

Strangely it works on Rebekah, but Caroline frowns, genuinely puzzled. He cannot be taking his family's betrayal with just a shrug of his shoulders, can he? Not even if, hell _yes_, he had it coming. He'd done the same thing to _all_ of them over and over again—and with no great cause such as saving the doppelganger and her precious bloodline to justify it. Simply because he had a quick temper and that's just the kind of thing psychopathic original hybrids do. Tapping her foot on the floor because _really_, Caroline bites her lip to suppress the words that she knows would be highly unwise to spit out, and anxiously waits for Rebekah to calm down—which by the way, _overdue_; she wasn't worried sick at all, she's just a plain old drama queen. But Klaus's words of contrition seem to have appeased her, so with a small smile Rebekah hugs him—quickly and sort of detachedly—and then she lets go with a far brighter smile that she aims directly at Caroline.

There's nothing she can do to avert her eyes from the scene now.

First things first: how can someone look that freaking hot after one hundred and fifty years of desiccation?

She remembers then: one whole week running freely in the winter winds and howling at the moon all over Scotland will do that to an originally hot original hybrid. Especially if he's spent the best part of the last seven days feeding compulsively on isolated and unsuspected villagers. Seriously—must they tarnish one of the very, very few sustainable ecosystems that still survive on this godforsaken planet? If he plans to keep on massacring humans, they're going to have to move somewhere else. Somewhere putrid and crammed and infected with self-absorbed degenerate people. One of the big old cities.

Funny. Paris, Rome or Tokyo will do.

Funny, too—how her straying thoughts really can do nothing to distract her from the awkward silence that has replaced the floating feathers as, you know, the thick smothering presence in the room that can actually be seen and touched and even smelled—

—he smells like blood, fresh and hot and human, and it's all Caroline can do to keep herself from licking her lips.

He would take it the wrong way.

"You know, usually I'd make myself scarce because well, this is kind of awkward," Rebekah finally says, somehow managing to sound both mocking and sympathetic at the same time, as she offers a small trembling smile to Caroline. "But this is my room, and there's no way I'm leaving you two alone in my room."

Caroline's eyes widen and her mouth opens in a silent gasp that gets stuck in her throat. It's one part outrage and nine parts embarrassment and really, she wants to choke Rebekah. Pull her hair. Punch her in the face. Kick her shin. But she can't move and she can't even look at Klaus and—

—_Oh my God_—

—when exactly did he flash across the room to stand just _inches_ away from her?

One hand cups her face and Caroline gulps, her eyes so wide they are beginning to sting. Klaus barely looks at her for a second before turning to Rebekah. "Don't be crass, sister. Show some tact and leave us alone, will you?"

"Nik—"

"Leave!"

His firm tone leaves no room for disobedience, and Caroline finds herself shaking from head to toe as she sees Rebekah's silhouette out of the corner of her eye, vanishing into the hallway. Klaus's eyes are back on hers in a second, deep and blue and bright—just like she remembers then. There's nothing ashen or stony about him anymore. His hands feel warm on her cheeks, his breath moist against the tip of her nose. But his face steels as her takes her in, looking at her so intently that he might as well be drinking her up. Maybe he is going to—

—she surrenders and flinches, at last, and as if he had been expecting just that, his whole ridiculous face splits into the goofiest of grins right at the very second she's expecting him to bare his fangs and sink them into her neck.

She remains paralyzed, but manages to breathe out as his thumbs tenderly brush the skin over her cheekbones. He leans even closer, his nose touching hers. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my sweet Caroline."

~  
tbc.

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**Thanks for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone! Thank you so so much for your reviews, they mean the world to me ; they truly do.**

**Here's the next chapter of this story. I hope that those of you who wanted 'bigger' and 'better' KC scenes won't be too disappointed. I'd like to point something out, in any case: I'm not trying to be a tease. I would never do that. I wouldn't jeopardize my story to keep readers hanging. That is cheap and dishonest, and it's never my intention. I'm just trying to keep this as in character and believable as possible, given the story's stupid tendency to lean towards shameless utter crack. Sorry about that, by the way.**

**Can I promise that the M-rated parts are coming (very) soon and hope that you won't hate me?**

**As always, thank your forever for reading!**

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**Chapter 3**

Luckily for her—she _thinks_, she can't really be sure of anything with Klaus's lips hovering like, an inch away from her face—he takes pity on her very trembling self once he believes that, whatever point he's trying to make by flashing his dimples at her like they can, you know, _melt_ her or something, has in fact come across. Caroline hasn't gotten the message at all, yet she breathes out, relieved like a fool, when he pulls away without doing something… _regrettable_ first. As her gaze uncrosses to look at him properly, another gulp of rebellious breath clots in her throat.

Damn _him._

He walks backwards towards the door of Rebekah's room, his eyes never leaving her, roaming up and down and up again all over her like she's his lunch—he can do that you know, walk backwards like a fucking crab without losing one ounce of his swag; he is that _big_ an asshole. He even winks at her, the smartass, when he says, "I take it from your attire that you haven't eaten breakfast yet, have you? Come," he smiles, big and apparently happy, offering his hand like he expects her to actually take it—his _hand_, "I could grab a bite myself."

Huh.

It takes at least two seconds longer than it should have to process his words.

Yeah. Breakfast—no. She hasn't eaten yet. Isn't it a bit late for breakfast thought? She drank a bit of coffee when she woke but then she'd got back into her room to fret some more while waiting for Rebekah to wake up, but Rebekah hadn't waken up and Caroline had waited. She had expected that maybe Rebekah would have the means to lure someone into their home—she hadn't really felt like sipping blood out of blood bag or, worse, having to resort to Stefan's disgusting bottled fake blood. So she had decided that waking Rebekah would be a good idea, but then they have gotten all caught up in conversation—

—and Caroline is still wearing her pajamas.

Huh.

Well. They aren't _real_ pajamas, does that count? She's wearing a pair of (very) old yoga pants and a sweatshirt because imagine that, Edinburgh at the beginning of winter in their post-global warming end-of-nature world—it's a freaking cold city, even for a vampire that has to make do in some sort of restored seventh-century house. So… she's decent. Kind of. Perhaps not impressively sexy and alluring, she is sure, but that is fine. It's not like she _wants_ to be sexy and alluring in front of newly resuscitated, still sex-on-legs Klaus. Who do you take her for?

She's so much more mature than that—she's one hundred and sixty seven years old, for God's sake. He only knew her when she was a baby, and she can play that to her advantage. She wasn't born yesterday; she has picked up a trick or two over the years. If he's expecting her to squirm under his scrutiny—he has something else coming, that's for sure. Caroline is classier now. Classy enough that she doesn't even blink under the intensity of Klaus's gaze, regardless of how sharp the edge he gives to his diabolical smirk. She holds her head up high, shoulders straightened up and eyebrows pulled almost to her hairline, like she doesn't even notice him. That's how unbothered she is by quite majestic presence in the room.

She even turns away with half a shrug. "Go ahead," she says, smiling in secret triumph (because he can't see her) when her voice comes out firm and self-assured. Changing her mind about stealing more of Rebekah's new clothes, she turns around, but her eyes barely brush his as she strolls her way out of the room without paying him any mind. "I'll find you in a bit," she adds, strolling along the corridor like she owns the goddamned place. "I'll get something more appropriate to wear, it's almost lunchtime and I don't want Elijah to stake me for wearing sweats at the table."

Let him wonder just how _well_ she knows Elijah.

So really, what if she's feeling a bit playful on top of a bit (too) excited and a bit too light-headed? It's really not her fault that skinny jeans are still a thing in the twenty-second century, even if there's not once trace of actual cotton in them, and sometimes they make her itchy. So what? They're Rebekah's after all (she changed her mind again, shut _up_)—but only because all the very basic outfits Caroline brought with her are now used and they smell like a closed, crammed ancient house. So she's borrowing some of the (so ridiculously many) items Rebekah has bought for herself—no harm in that. Apparently her _chosen_ sister needs an entire time-period-appropriate wardrobe in each and every corner of the world that her family owns property in. Which is every freaking town in the goddamned world. Wasteful and abhorrently extravagant, in Caroline's opinion—but it comes in handy when she needs nice clothes to wear to _not_ impress Klaus.

Honestly. Cross her heart and hope to die.

She's just _really_ worried that Elijah will be most disappointed in her table manners, okay? So… no need to gather excessive amounts of air in her lungs in the hope that it will make her feel dizzied enough that her heart rate will decrease dramatically as she enters the kitchen—where of course Klaus is crouched on the floor, his nice soft-looking real-cotton shirt slightly pulled up to expose the small of his back, as he inspects the contents of the mini-fridge with an expression of puzzlement drawing his ludicrously handsome (oh, shut _up_) face in a way that makes Caroline want to—

He turns to her with a frown, not making a move to stand up. "What the hell is this?" He's holding a bottle of genetically modified and artificially synthesized blood, obviously having read the label quite carefully and being horrified by the information found there. "What is this made of? I really hope this is not what our species has fallen down to while I was indisposed, or I swear by everything sacred and profane that I will eat the maid."

Storm clouds are rolling in over his eyes, but Caroline moves fast to avert the crisis brewing. She waves dismissively as him and shakes her head, "Only Stefan eats that crap. There are places now—well," she pauses, not really sure of how to put it so he doesn't jump to conclusions, "there are some people—some _circles_ of people that know about us and like to keep us well fed, so there's always fresh blood in the cities. But don't worry," she adds quickly, swallowing her best 'welcome to the new world of vampire comfort' smile when she notices his wary expression. "Most of us still prefer to hunt."

At that, his eyebrows shoot up like she's actually managed to surprise him. "You prefer to hunt?" He shakes his head, standing up with the bottle still in hand before she can think of an appropriate answer to his question. His eyes grow unexpectedly hard as he looks at her intently, gritting his teeth. "Never mind, love. Let's save that conversation for another time. If I start thinking about all the fun you've surely had without me over the past one hundred and fifty years, I might get—" His eyes are glowing anew, but it isn't a pretty sight—"upset."

"Yeah, about that, brother—"

Before Caroline can even turn toward him, Kol has flashed into the kitchen faster than even her vampire eyes can see him, positioning himself defensively in the trajectory of any potential crossfire between her and Klaus. She frowns, her confusion kind of skyrocketing when Kol actually reaches behind his back to grab her arm—a move that quite frankly stupefies her—as he holds up his free hand, like a hand lifted in warning can do anything to contain Klaus's untamable fury. "Let's not be too hasty, shall we?"

So—um—

—what just happened?

Unless she is suffering from some weird kind of vampire amnesia, Caroline is pretty damn sure that she hasn't seen Kol more than a handful of times in the last one hundred and fifty years, and she's also pretty certain that _touching_ has never been involved in any of their very rare encounters, when for some very selfish reason, Kol decided to grant his sister with a courtesy visit. Inappropriate innuendos and very lame pick-up lines? Sure—nothing else seems to ever come out of his mouth, after all. But he hadn't touched her—not ever. So what is he doing right now? Judging by the actual, very visible yellow fire burning in Klaus's wolfish eyes and by the way his jaw clenches—surely to accommodate two lovely pairs of fangs—as he stares at Kol's fingers—closed gently, yet firmly around Caroline's forearm—it seems like a rather risky (that is, _suicidal_) move on Kol's part.

Though hey, for all she knows, maybe Kol is suicidal. What does she care?

Oh, right. Klaus's low, threatening growl reminds her.

He snarls, "Kol," eyes narrowed until only two tiny black spots can be seen in the crack of his lids. His back bows, as if he's actually getting ready to launch himself at his brother, and he whispers dangerously quiet, "be a good sport and think of your liver, mate. Put your hand away before I rip it off."

Kol smiles in response to the very-scary-sounding threat—but he actually obeys his brother's command, raising both hands to demonstrate his defenselessness. "You misunderstand me, Nik," he replies, smiling as apologetically as someone like Kol is capable of—which isn't much, really. The mirth is evident in his eyes, which makes Caroline shudder in apprehension. "Nothing further from my noble intentions than standing in the way of your heart's truest and deepest desire, brother. I am in fact a firm believer in the epic nature of this Beauty and the Sleeping Beast tale you and the lovely Caroline have going on, but it'd just be a true shame if all your family's tireless efforts to keep the lady safe and sound while you were at rest ended up gone to waste now, wouldn't it?" His grin sharpens like a knife, and Caroline actually shivers—like a true _living_impressionable girl. "Look at her," Kol continues, mischief glistening in his dark eyes as he turns to look at her for half a second. "Look how pretty she is. Now, it would be most unfortunate for you to rip her pretty little head off, wouldn't it?"

Klaus's expression of unrepressed animalistic fury melts into a sort of confused glower. He grunts like the wolf he is and tilts his head to the side. "Shut up and go away, Kol. I'm not going to hurt Caroline. You, on the other hand—"

His words trail off as he raises one brow meaningfully, taking a step closer towards his brother. Immediately Kol moves backward to hold his position as Caroline's human shield, which is just weird and it's seriously making her skin crawl—does Kol really believe that Klaus is trying to kill her? Does Klaus actually _want_ to kill her? Her stomach lurches and she feels a gaping hole opening raw and painful right across her entrails as she contemplates the thought of the big fat mess she might have gotten herself into—and there she was, worrying about skinny jeans like a junior year _fool_.

Damn her and her feather-headed stupidity.

Kol isn't moving away from the spot where he's standing, right in between her and Klaus. His hands remain held up high like that simple gesture can keep Klaus away if he decides to attack. Caroline shivers and forces herself not to zoom out from the scene completely, as Kol begins to speak again. "Forgive me if I don't believe you, brother," he says. "I harbor no doubt in my heart that your intentions towards our sweet Caroline are highly noble and most definitely impure, but I must remind you, in case it has slipped from your memory, that I myself know the feeling of being awoken after over a hundred years of desiccation. Maybe it's simply not the best idea for you and your girl to be left alone to your own devices just yet, don't you agree?"

Klaus scoffs, the wolf gone for now. "I am not you, Kol. Don't insult me. I am perfectly capable of handling myself. I have perfect self-control—not that my alone time with Caroline should be of any concern to you. So please, go and stick your hideously deformed nose into someone else's private business before I reconsider my choice of letting you walk the earth in one piece."

Kol scoffs louder. "My nose is so much prettier than yours... Also" he sneers, "No, sorry brother, can't do."

In a clear mocking gesture of defiance, he grabs Caroline's arm again, but this time she reacts faster. He's not expecting her to pull away so she catches him off-guard when she snatches her arm back, her back stiffening as emotions roll over her like waves beneath a thunder storm. From slightly terrified only moments ago, she moves past more-than-slightly mortified in as long as it takes Kol to be his usually d-bag self while declaiming lame unfunny speeches like a clown. She feels embarrassed and stupid that she's standing there without saying a word, going from scared to uncomfortable and back to scared again while the brothers discuss her like she isn't in the room—like she's a thing to keep well-guarded without any real agency or ability to make her own decisions. So—no sir, no.

She coldheartedly decides to take advantage of Klaus's strangely stunned silence and intervene, her hands knotted nervously in her hips. "Quit it, Kol," she says, disciplining her face into an expression of genuine anger. "I don't need your protection, and I don't understand why you're doing this, to be perfectly honest. Since when do you care? Well, that's not true, I guess. I do know why you're pulling this lame stunt—you're doing it to rile up your brother because you're a nasty piece of psychotic junk. Well, it won't work. I'm sure this is all a lot of fun to you but believe me, you psycho, no one's laughing."

No one's laughing, that is true. But it's also very much _not_ true that Kol isn't succeeding in getting under Klaus's skin, which, if you ask her, pretty much justifies the very undeniably fact that she has picked a side in the brotherly battle unfolding before her.

Anyone surprised by her reckless and potentially life-threatening choice?

Anyone? No?

No one is surprised.

Figure _that_. No one in the whole wide world is surprised that Caroline is the freaking Queen of precipitated and most-surely _bad_ decisions. Especially not the King of arrogance and smugness: NiKlaus the Original Hybrid Jerk. His smile now shines brighter than any sunshine Caroline has seen in at least fifty years, and fuck it, his perpetual hot-and-cold routine is truly making her want to punch his whole face in.

Kol whistles at what he surely considers a fit of very much admirable fiery insolence on her part, turning around to look at her and nodding appreciatively. "It seems you're worth the trouble after all."

Whatever. Like she needs his approval or something.

She returns his keen gaze with her eyes nearly closed, furious, leaving no room to doubt that she does not like his angle one bit. But the more enraged she glares at him, the sharper his smile becomes, until he suddenly jerks up like he just remembered something important. His brother.

Immediately he turns to Klaus who is eyeing them carefully. His eyes look calmer now, less stormy as he catches Caroline's gaze over Kol's shoulder. "Don't pay him any mind, sweetheart. My brother here is just concerned that I might not be able to keep myself in check around you after one hundred of fifty years of starvation and confinement." His voice grows thicker as he lets the silent implications roll over the tip of his tongue, igniting a spark of electricity down Caroline's spine. He leaves her hanging, of course, as he turns to look at Kol again, squinting. "I wonder however, what went wrong in the world that _you_ of all the most indecent monsters in this planet ended up entrusted with the role of chaperon?"

Kol takes the insult like a compliment, of course. His eyes narrow gleefully to shoot Klaus a dangerously amused gaze as he sing-songs, "Would you rather have Elijah watching over your girl?"

Again with _his_ girl? She had let it pass the first time because really, not worth getting in the middle of their fight over semantics. But _again_? She crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head in annoyance, not that anyone is looking at her. Still, she scoffs. His girl. How about _no_?

The saddest part is that Kol's evil trick works on Klaus seamlessly. Cocky and smug, Kol smirks unrepentant as Klaus's face hardens, his previous easy calm dissolving into a dead-cold statute-like demeanor. It lasts for a millisecond—all it takes for Klaus to make the decision to flash across the kitchen and close his fingers around Kol's throat. Kol's hands wrap around Klaus's forearm, uselessly trying to push him away, but Klaus's grip doesn't even quiver: with a cold stare in his eyes, he simply digs his fingers deeper into the walls of Kol's larynx. His gaze looks so much brighter now—a soft shade of beautiful green. He whispers, the words fighting their way out of his clenched teeth, "Yes, I would rather trust Elijah than you, you shameless little insane—"

"Niklaus."

As if on cue—most certainly _on cue_, Caroline suspects—Elijah appears in the kitchen just as Klaus has made the decision to rip off Kol's throat and watch him put it back in place afterwards. Really, Caroline should be repulsed and terrified at the gratuitous display of violence, but she doesn't like Kol that much. Doesn't especially like his minding other people's business and saying and hinting at things that are very much none of his concern. Things that make her worry that maybe Klaus is only playing at being nice and kind to her—right like she suspected back then, right this side of eighteen and terrified of the Big Bad Wolf (except, not really) because all her friends had told her to be.

"Elijah—"

Reluctantly, Klaus lets go of Kol just as Stefan and Rebekah appear on the kitchen doorstep as well. His eyes fall to the floor for a couple of seconds before he shakes his head and looks up again, his eyes moving from one person to the next nervously, eyes twitching like a caged animal. He swallows and stiffens his back, and it takes him barely a moment to regain his usual arrogant poise.

"So good to see the family together," he declares, and Elijah nods, agreeing with the sentiment and discarding the blatant sarcasm.

"Should we head into the dining room?" he asks, indicating the way with his hand like they don't remember where the dining room is. "Lunch is being served," he clarifies, because that is just who Elijah is.

And of course, no one dares say another word until they're all sitting around the table.

It's only like, two steps from the kitchen to the dining room, so at least the awkwardness doesn't last very long. As she sits down, Caroline is fidgeting nervously because she can't help herself, really. She's afraid that Elijah is going to scold her if she doesn't stop but come on, she'd give short of anything to be anywhere else but where she is right now: in a foreign city, in a foreign home, eating lunch with a family that isn't her own and who have like, the entire Rocky Mountains of issues to resolve. And an eternity to do so, so there's no rush really.

She'd just—

—she'd _much_ rather be alone with Klaus than in the middle of a family feud like the one she can see coming. Why is she here anyway? She's sure that _the_ original family of aristocrat vampires she has been thrown right in the middle of—well, they surely do value their privacy when it comes to handling family business, right? Stefan is different—he's practically married to Rebekah these days. Caroline, on the other hand—she has no ties to them except—

—well, she's friends with Rebekah.

(Shut _up_.)

So what can she do but politely thank the maid when she pours her a glass of fresh warm blood straight from her wrist? She drinks avidly but it does nothing to stop her from feeling like an intruder. It's so freaking awkward! No one is saying anything so Caroline has to distract herself by watching Stefan sip from his glass and feeling a great sense of satisfaction when he doesn't break into a full murderous rampage immediately afterwards. Look at how well-adjusted he is these days—

He offers Caroline a small smile when he catches her eyes across the round table, and then he turns his attention to Rebekah. She seems tense—more so than Caroline; wound-up so tight that Caroline starts worrying that maybe _Rebekah_ is the one who will go on a murderous rampage unless someone speaks soon. Well, Caroline rationalizes; at least she's out of her lilac silk pajamas. Rebekah knows a whole damn lot better than showing up for lunch in her bedtime clothes, but after her very much rushed exit after Klaus had basically thrown her out of her own room… Caroline's just glad she a had a chance to change clothes after she and Klaus had left—Elijah would be rearranging the napkin next to his plate with a much deeper frown otherwise.

"Once he's finally satisfied with the placement and folding of his napkin, he speaks at last. "So Klaus," he says, calm and forever composed, "I imagine you may have some questions."

Klaus nods nonchalantly, throwing a charming smile to the maid as she settles the roasted-duck sandwiches in the middle of the table, next to the bowl of cold pumpkin soup. Caroline's eyes widen and she loses focus for a minute: where do these people get the fresh meat and vegetables from in a big old rotten city? It's _insane_. Like the uncompelled maid who keeps on cutting up her wrist every time a glass is emptied. She literally cannot believe the opulence, the off-the-chart levels of self-indulgence—

By the time her concentration returns to the impossibly awkward table situation, Klaus is toying with a knife (of course), and Elijah's face remains completely impassive, as if nothing Klaus can do or think about doing can ever touch him. Caroline can actually _feel_ the tension drawing goosebumps on her skin, making her tingle when Klaus's deep low voice joins the party. "I do have some questions," he admits, lifting the blood-filled glass to his lips. "Let's start with an easy one, shall we? What happened to the doppelganger?"

On pure instinct, Caroline's eyes turn to Stefan as her fingers messily sink into the soft bread of her sandwich. _Great_—but she can't think of her sticky fingers now. Klaus and Rebekah are also looking at him, but Stefan remains unmoved as he observes Elijah, patiently waiting for the answer. Elijah takes his time as he does for everything else, frowning slightly and taking a sip from his blood before he answers: "What we agreed on when we offered our deal to the Salvatores, Klaus. We watched over her, protected her. We made sure she married a human—the nice football player you suggested, actually—and lived a long fruitful life. We ensured that she had a happy family, and we ensured the continuity of her bloodline."

Totally. They ensured the continuity of the doppelganger bloodline so that Klaus can exploit it for all eternity to create a infinite number of gross mindless hybrids.

How long before he asks about—?

"The pact we offered to the Salvatores did not include my dissection, unless my memory fails me."

His voice is hard and unforgiving, but Elijah remains unfazed as he retorts, "You were already desiccated when we arrived on the town, Klaus. That was hardly our fault."

Well, it was pretty much their fault (technically) that they didn't let him out after Damon handed back Klaus's body, wasn't it? Not that Caroline is opening her mouth to point that out and have all hell break loose right over her head, thank you very much for the offer. Even if, you know, the second Elijah's words are out Klaus's undivided attention travels to Stefan, who is unfortunately sitting right by his side. He pats his back like he's trying to make him choke on his sandwich, but Stefan resists the assault seemingly unaffected. "My old pal," Klaus says. "I've missed you, you know? Last time I saw you, you had your hand stuck in my chest and your fingers were squeezing my heart. It was rather intimate, wouldn't you say? How's life treated you these past one hundred and fifty years, mate?"

Immediately—

"Nik—" Rebekah warns him, eyes cold and hard as steel.

And immediately—

Bad move, Caroline realizes. Klaus's eyes glimmer with triumph as he takes in the way Stefan's body is leaning subtly towards Rebekah, and how she's moved closer to him now that Klaus has chosen to focus his vitriol on Stefan. "I see," he says, his mouth curling into a wicked smile. "I imagine watching Elena's wedding from the bride side of the chapel was tough, wasn't it, my friend? Was it before or after she married the footballer that you decided to _use_ my sister to help wash down your sorrows?"

Kol's loud jingling laugh cuts through the table, and Caroline can do nothing to stop herself from narrowing her eyes at him. Seriously. He's laughing and licking the maid's open wrist simultaneous, looking at Klaus with genuine admiration shining in his eyes, like he has completely forgotten that Klaus just tried to rip his throat out _minutes_ ago. "You're so right, brother," he has the nerve to say, using his fork to point across the table from Stefan to Rebekah and back to Stefan again. "Apparently, this insignificant human girl over whom _all_ of you had your knickers in a twist, I can't for the life of me figure out why, was marrying this dumb _nice_—" He makes a face at the word 'nice', like it's a dirty word—"human boy and for some reason we were required to attend the wedding, you see? It was an absolute blast! The bridegroom just happened to be—of course—the boy our dearest Bekah was completely smitten with! She wouldn't shut up about it, you know how much of a brat she can be. So yes, I wholeheartedly agree—I say our sister and Stefan really found each other as they struggled in a sea of inconsolable grief. Isn't that romantic?"

A loaf of (real! made of flour!) bread flies across the table, landing unceremoniously right on Kol's face, and Elijah actually face-palms.

"Can we not even have lunch like civilized people? Is that so much to ask for?"

Caroline isn't even that surprised at the turn of events.

Nobody is listening to Elijah's desperate complains, so Caroline does her best to catch his eye and offer a pacifying smile. She couldn't be any more uncomfortable, really—

"Matt was Caroline's ex-boyfriend, actually."

—well, she was wrong.

She most definitely can be _more_ uncomfortable.

Would it be too unforgivably rude if she threw her own bread at Rebekah's face? Really! What need was there to get her and her impossibly lame track record of bad, worse, and the worst boyfriends _ever_ onto their lunch table conversation? Kol's terrifying reaction to the news is to laugh almost hysterically through a gross, open-mouthed bite of bread. It's disgusting, and he's only doing it to prove a point—that's he's _grateful_ for the bread Rebekah's just thrown at him. Ugh. He smirks deviously, turning his eyes to Caroline, and she really wants to punch him. "So you dated the footballer too, sweet Caroline? Now, I wonder—have you ever been sexually involved with our dear Stefan, present here among us, at some point in your very young and not-so-innocent life?" His eyes move impossibly fast all over the table. "That revelation would certainly spice up this dull family lunch, don't you all agree?"

It's a knife this time—flying at supernatural speed from Klaus's hand, across the table and directly aimed at Kol's pulsing jugular.

He stops it effortlessly with his thumb and index finger one millimeter before it pierces his skin, and his terrible smile perseveres even after Elijah stands up, hitting the wooden table with the palm of his hand—just twice. Two dry thuds, accompanied by three dry words. "We have _guests_."

Silence falls like a blanket over the table after his words, and Elijah's eyes settle apologetically on Caroline for a second before he looks down to Klaus. "_Your_ guests, Niklaus, if I may be so bold as to point that out. So please tell me, why would you play into Kol's childish games? Twice he's made you lose control already. Can't you see that he's only trying to get under your skin because she's bored? Learn something from Stefan. Eat your lunch and ignore him."

Klaus's whole face twitches in annoyance. He very obviously doesn't appreciate being reprimanded by his elder brother, especially when Elijah is so blatantly right. Both Klaus and Kol have tried to rile up Stefan, going on about Elena and trying to belittle his relationship with Rebekah. He's barely raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement of their pointless taunting. Klaus, on the other hand—like a petulant child, he still protests when Elijah sits down to finish eating.

"You're not the boss of me, brother."

Caroline shakes her head rolls her eyes because, _really_? Chewing on her duck, she lets out a loud, irritated puff of air that—guess what?—manages to draw everyone's attention to her. She feels their eyes on her, prickling at her skin, so, slowly, and still chewing because fuck _them_, she raises her eyes to meet their inquisitive gazes. Elijah's eyes are soft and gentle, but his gaze is firm and guarded as ever. Kol is still smiling, his eyes glistening with joy like he just won the lottery—or whatever the equivalent of that is for loaded original vampires. Stefan's looking all Zen like usually, fingers entwined with Rebekah's on the tablecloth. Rebekah looks almost apologetic—or she would, if she weren't still fuming. Caroline can practically see the smoke coming out of her ears. And Klaus—

—are they expecting her to say something? Because _no way_ she's opening her mouth in this minefield of a table—

—Klaus is gritting his teeth. He looks annoyed and restless and edgy, like he's struggling not to flip the table over and just grab her and whisk her away from this psychotic bunch of crazies he's been gifted with as a family.

Or so Caroline would like to think.

Maybe he isn't thinking anything like that at all. Maybe he just looks so fucking gorgeous, you know? Staring at her right across the table—not letting her pull away from his intense gaze—that Caroline may just be projecting onto him.

Her own desires.

She might as well be nursing a rather lethal death wish—whatever; she's so past caring. She might be crazy, or really, _really_ excitement-deprived (that flying load of bread is the most electrifying moment she's felt in a long time, how sad is that?)—because as far as she can tell, his bright blue eyes are hiding a promise—

—_later_—

—and damn _it_.

She can't wait for him to get her alone.

~  
_tbc._

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__**Thank you for taking the time to read! **

**Next: ****Klaus will reappear into society. How? By means a classic Mikaelson Ball, of course!**


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n: hello everyone! as always, thank you very, very much for reviewing this work. You have no idea how much it meant to me to hit one hundred reviews, and read that you guys are still liking this story. Thank you as well, of course, to those of you who fave'd, followed or are just reading. It means the world to know you find time in your lives to read this little crazy tale.**

**Now, here it is the next chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint and, for what is worth on a day like today - there's quite a bit of Kol in it.**

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** Chapter 4**

.-.

Rebekah's being exceptionally patient as she struggles to knot the laces of Caroline's gown so it doesn't completely fall to the floor the minute she starts dancing, but Caroline cannot be bothered to care about fashion right now—not much anyway. So instead she sighs and fights the urge to move, so Rebekah doesn't smack her across the head—that'd be the death of her lovely hairdo, after all. And she huffs, a lot, making it very plain and obvious how _not_ okay she is with the whole plan.

"I just don't understand why I have to go," she whines and, yeah, she is so not caring that she's _whining_, because Rebekah doesn't bother getting annoyed at her.

"Shut up, Caroline, will you? You love getting all dolled-up, so stop bleating. This is _the_ event of the season. The last time my family held a black-tie ball was in that pathetic little town of yours. This is _London_, okay? The capital of the old world. Everyone who's anyone is going to be here," she explains, for the tenth time, her voice leaping from impatience to merry, jingling excitement. "So stop fidgeting and let me finish getting this dress to stay put, okay?"

Caroline groans but obeys, her stomach clenching with nerves. "Nothing of what you said is a valid reason why I have to be there, you know? I'm not _anyone_, as you said—"

"Self-depreciation, Caroline? Really? Do you think that's going to work?" Rebekah tightens the laces with perhaps a little bit more force than Caroline deems necessary, but she knows better than complaining about that, too. Rebekah's been an absolute sweetheart in all matters ball-related (costume department specially) since they got to London a couple of days ago. It's really not her fault that Caroline is facing the most terrifying night of her entire life, so she forces herself sighs her anxiety away, again. Sadly, she's forced to rethink her actions immediately when Rebekah pulls the laces tighter beneath her chest and the air gets stuck in her constricted lungs. "Nice not needing to breath, isn't it?" Rebekah's reflection on the mirror smiles, sweetly when she adds, "You need to be at the ball because our friends and acquaintances need to get used to seeing your pretty little face around, honey, if you're planning to stay with us."

Stay. Stay with them. With Klaus. With his family.

The most powerful and dangerous circle of supernatural creatures in the world need to get to know her—if she's going to become a part of the Mikaelson family. Of course. Right. What could possible be wrong about that reasoning? Except, you know—the part when everyone's assuming that she's just married into the original family, even though she hasn't said two words to her lovely mass-murdering alleged groom since he came back from among the dead and desiccated. Of course though, she has no plans to start debating Rebekah's logic right now. Caroline has learned to pick her battles and right now, the fact that her presence is required for high-society-habits reasons at a big-ass Mikaelson family event is only a teeny tiny little problem when compared to the issue of _who_ her date to the event is going to be.

So she huffs again, the pain constricting her ribs be damned. "Yeah, okay. Whatever. I'm honored to be invited to your ball, don't take my reluctance the wrong away, but you know—"

She totally gets why Klaus is taking an unimportant hot date that he's planning to eat at midnight and share with his freaky evil friends as some kind of human cocktail. She also kind of understands why she and Klaus can't be seen together—not tonight. The whole point of the grand social event is actually to pamper Klaus's infamous world-wide reputation for boundless unrepentant evilness, so having him distracted or in full courting mode might be an inconvenience. Funny how that works, right? Once upon a time she was only allowed—by herself, but who's asking—to talk to Klaus if it was a ploy to distract him and now—

—now she has to attend the family ball with freaking _Kol_ to uphold Klaus's untarnished repute in the dark world of supernatural crime. How messed up is that? Besides the fact that—hello? How is this plan any good or sane or not a complete suicide mission? Giving Kol such an easy chance to toy with his brothers—it's going to end in blood and tears and fratricide, Caroline has no doubts.

"Why can't I go with Elijah instead?" she asks, tapping her foot impatiently as Rebekah arranges the ancient, hand-laced embrodiery around her waist. "In case you've forgotten, the last Mikaelson ball I attended was ruined when Kol decided to murder your date because apparently the party doesn't start until he makes a scene, so really—how has Klaus even agreed to this?"

Rebekah only shrugs, turning Caroline around so she can fully appraise her finally-complete attire. She speaks indifferently, "Don't worry, Care. Kol will be on his best behavior tonight, I promise. He knows it's important for the family—and you can't go with Elijah because that wouldn't be believable. You're a friend of Stefan and this a friend of my family, and Kol is escorting you tonight because he probably wants to lure you into his bed. That's what everyone will think. Elijah is a different sort of man. If he ever brings a girl to a family event like this, believe me, there'll be a rock catching the candlelight in her ring finger. Besides, everyone knows that Elijah is pretty much spoken for, so—"

_That_ finally manages to distract Caroline from her guts-cramping anxiety. "Is he?"

Walking towards the vanity to grab Caroline's perfume, Rebekah barely waves her hand in nonchalance. "He's been in love with that doppelganger bitch for over six hundred years. It's the most pathetic thing I've ever seen, really—except no, that's not true. That time he fell in love with that faded-out human copy and exchanged _her_ life for Nik's freedom was actually worse."

Caroline frowns, confused and the tiniest bit caught-of-guard with unwanted wistful feelings—as every time Katherine or Elena or _both_ of them are mentioned by Rebekah, who has all the reasons in the universe to hate them but, still—she shakes her own messed-up thoughts away before asking, "So are they—um, together or something?"

Elijah and Katherine.

She cannot imagine a weirder combination than those two. They are so… different. At least Stefan has a ripper alter-ego that kind of explains his fascination with Rebekah. Yes, it's a lot more complex than that, but Elijah and Katherine? He looks always so composed and refined—and Katherine is nothing if not dangerously unpredictable. Elijah is so honorable. Katherine such an unredeemable selfish liar. Caroline shudders, and Rebekah sympathizes with a smile that quickly morphs into an expression of sheer fury. "No they aren't—because that bitch is in love with Stefan and she isn't ever backing down, no matter how obvious it is that she has no chance in hell over me. So if I she ever dares show her face around here, I will just kill her. Nik will help me, I'm sure, and Elijah will get over it as soon as another doppelganger shows her pretty girl-next-door face in some corner of the world."

Yeah—

_I will also help you_, Caroline thinks, before she can stop herself. Payback's a bitch, right?

Katherine killed her first.

The sentiment must be obvious in her stare, because Rebekah catches her smiles and smile knowingly. "Enough about the evil witch of Bulgaria," she beams, actually glowing in her golden dress. "You look stunning, Caroline—and it's all thanks to me, so you should thank me."

Rolling her eyes only a little bit, Caroline smiles back at her. "Thank you."

It's true, after all. Rebekah chose a pale blue and silver old dress that she kept in their Edinburgh house since the eighteenth century and brought it down to London as a surprise for Caroline. Together—but mostly Rebekah, to be quite honest—they had worked on it, peeling off and rearranging most of the many layers it was made of to make it fit the standards of classic twenty-second century etiquette fashion. The result is breathtaking—beautiful and shiny and delicate and flowing sheer as it falls over Caroline's legs—

–she can do nothing to help the groan that breaks out of her throat. "I can't believe I'm wasting this dress on Kol."

Rebekah chuckles, smiling mischievously as she holds up her fisted hand, obviously hiding something in it. She waits for Caroline to open her palm to receive the mysterious gift before she grins, "You're not wasting it on Kol, Care. You'll dazzle our guests tonight, I'm sure. It'll be torture for Nik, watching from afar. And oh, he asked me to give you this."

_Oh_.

The diamond bracelet falls light and cool onto her palm, catching the halogen white light and reflecting it so bright and pure that Caroline's eyes sting. Her breath hitches, and her fingers tremble so badly that Rebekah takes pity on her, taking the bracelet and clasping it around her wrist as she delivers the rest of the story. "I told him he should give it to you himself, but he seemed worried that you'd think he was trying to buy you off and would throw it at his face."

Caroline swallows, averting her eyes, incapable of saying a word.

Funny how some things work, right? The expensive diamond bracelet had both enchanted her and offended her when he first gave it to her—it had felt like he was indeed trying to buy her affections with extravagant gifts she had no need for. She had been angry that he had judged her so shallow without even trying to get to know her first—she had been annoyed at his arrogance, and angry at her own insecurities for loving the bracelet. It wasn't lost to her that he had picked that particular piece of jewelry of all things to mock Tyler's charm bracelet, her _other_ birthday present. Now, however—

—she wouldn't much care if the bracelet was made of chickpeas.

She couldn't believe that he still had it. She had thrown it to the floor in his studio, back in his Mystic Falls mansion. How had it ended up in London? Did he have it with him when Bonnie had performed the spell to desiccate him? It couldn't be—could it? And yet, here it was. Klaus's birthday gift to her—the one he gave to her the night he had promised her that eternal life could be a blessing.

Goddamn _him_.

Now's she smiling like a fool and blinking back tears and Rebekah basically owns her for all of eternity, given the knowing look in her eyes. She seems happy, though—_really_ happy and all of a sudden Caroline is overwhelmed by the urge to hug her, which she does, fast and not too enthusiastically to protect their gowns and elaborate hair-styles. Rebekah rolls her eyes at her, linking their arms together as they begin to walk towards the staircase where surely their dates will be waiting. "Come on," she eggs her on, patting Caroline's forearm encouragingly, "I'm sure you're going to knock my brother's pants off tonight."

Caroline doesn't want to, but she laughs. "Pretty sure 'pants' is not the right word in that expression."

Rebekah plays along. "What do you mean? Of course it is, silly."

Stilling smiling, Caroline shakes her head. "I don't think so. Besides, he's going to be too busy chatting up his dessert to pay much attention to me." No reason to sound so bitter, though; _think of the bracelet, Caroline_. The whole point of the entire charade is that Klaus is _not_ focused on her. He has more important business to attend to, and Caroline understands that. She respects it. She doesn't really care a lick about it.

"Don't be jealous of such a tart, Caroline."

"I'm so not jealous," she protests. So true. She is so not jealous. "Why would I be jealous of some nutcase who's willingly letting herself be passed around in a room full of evil creeps so they can all drink her up for hours? God, it's so gross."

It is. So gross. Yet Caroline is sure that the V.I.P. guests in Klaus's liquor room will find a way to make it hot and delicious. Uggh.

Disgusting. Utterly disgusting.

"No, it won't be for hours," Rebekah explains, as if Caroline actually cares about the specifics of the private after-party Klaus is throwing in the shadows for his most important, most deadly guests. "They'll go hunting after they run out of scotch and cigars."

Cigars. Ugh. Even more gross.

Brows pulled tight, she turns to Rebekah. "Why are you telling me this? I'd much rather not know all the gory details, you know?"

Rebekah shrugs, holding Caroline's arm closer to her as they finally reach the ground floor. There's no one there waiting for them yet. Perfect.

"You'll need to be comfortable with all this stuff if you're planning to be—"

"—you're brother's intended," Caroline cuts her off with a scoff. "Yeah, I know. You've already told me."

Unexpectedly though, Rebekah pulls away, eyebrows raised in alarm. "Marriage? I never said anything about marriage! I mean, okay, yes, maybe—but isn't it a bit too soon to be speaking of such things? I like you Caroline, but I'm afraid you might be getting a bit ahead of yourself. I mean, Stefan had I have been together for quite some time now and we aren't—"

"Oh, my God! Rebekah! I was joking! I pinky swear I will not get married before you do!"

"Marriage, darling? We haven't even had our first date yet. I know I'm irresistible and, granted, after tonight I can guarantee that your world will be turned upside down, no doubting that. Is that why you looked so flushed? Your blushing cheeks do look exquisite, Caroline. Do you want me to kiss them in greeting as it is tradition in warmer latitudes?"

She doesn't have the time (or the spirits) to even look at the swinging doors through which Kol and Stefan make their very classy entrance, before Rebekah—God bless her—intervenes in her defense. "Oh, shut up, Kol, or Nik will find a way to rip your arms off before the ball even starts."

Caroline thanks her with a small trembling smile, because just like that, before she can even begin to prepare herself for it, Kol's hand is in the small of her back, and she doesn't know what to do. It's not like she _wants_ to see Stefan displaying his never-ending sweetness on Rebekah. He is gaping like a fool, kissing her cheek, holding her hand—

"Should we go into the ballroom, my darling?"

She turns to Kol with her teeth clenched so tight that her jaw hurts. "I'm not your darling, you clown."

He tilts his head. "Okay, _Caroline_," he complies, bending his voice so that it comes out unfamiliarly soft. His hand remains on her back as he pushes her across the awaiting crowd of guests, all of them bubbling about, chatting, sipping sparking Champagne while they eye them up and down. It brings back memories, and she can't help but feel sorry that this time around he isn't there waiting for her. This time, he won't come to find her and shower her with silly compliments that she doesn't need or really want. It makes her move imperceptibly closer to Kol—the room is brimming with strangers, after all; they're all looking at them and, she knows for a fact, they are all dangerous.

She's almost grateful when Kol's hand curls around her waist. "Don't be nervous, dear. Nik has spent the last five hours whispering all kinds of inventive threats into my ear. I'll behave. You're safe with me."

Ha.

Biting down a sarcastic chuckle, she spins on her feet until she's standing face to face with him. Almost on auto-pilot, she offers him her hand as they get ready for the waltz, and just when she thinks she's ready for this, all of a sudden she's overcome by the realization that Kol is _not_ Klaus. Well, _duh_. It's not really that she doesn't want to dance with Kol—although she'd lie if she said she isn't nervous that he's going to try and pull off a typical Kol stunt that might end up in an actual, bloody tragedy. Tt's just that—she _really_ wants to dance with Klaus. Like they did that night. Because enough time has passed that she can look back at it wistfully, and appreciate the gentle gestures, the story about the horse, the fact that he showed her his studio—

She manages to waltz in silence for about twenty seconds in Kol's arms before she caves in and asks, "Where is he?"

She knows discretion is crucial. She isn't roaming the room in search for him or anything, but she really doesn't need to. She can't tell without looking that he isn't in the room and, well, after one hundred and fifteen years of separation, and the fact that they truly really were never that close… it should scare her. She can tell when he isn't around in a room full of people. When did that happen? How? Why? Isn't that scary?

"Nik's not here to dance, not tonight," Kol explains, remarkably polite as he strolls her across the dance floor like he was born doing this. This being, you know—being a actual gentleman. The opposite of what he usually is. "He's somewhere more private, attending to business with Elijah, the preferred lieutenant."

"I assume it must be really important," she comments, ignoring the annoyance in Kol's voice when he mentions Elijah. She offers a conciliatory smile, because hey, it must really stink, that Elijah and Klaus are rubbing shoulders with the biggest bad-asses in the world, and the little brother is stuck with baby-sitting duties. "I mean, you seem mildly okay with keeping me company, instead of letting yourself run wild and wreak havoc all over your brothers' plans."

"Believe it or not, sweet Caroline, I do value my existence, godforsaken as it may be," he smiles back, his arms swiftly moving around to guide her twirls. "After such a prolonged absence, it's important that my brother stands before certain people so that they can bow down to him. And with regards to babysitting, well, I must confess I do like you, Caroline."

Her back stiffens immediately, and her eyes narrow at the unexpected declaration, but she relaxes when Kol chuckles and his eyes remain calm and candid. "Not in the, 'I'm an imbecile with no integrity willing to have my own liver fed to me' sense, don't misunderstand me, Caroline. But…it's been rather interesting keeping an eye on you, you know? Nik does not usually—" He stops himself, nods towards the crowd around them so she understand that even though chances are low that someone might be eavesdropping, they'd rather not be too explicit about certain things. Then he shrugs, "As I'm sure you know, this has never happened before. It's a rather fascinating occurrence for my family, so we can't help but feel immensely curious about you."

_This has never happened before._

It takes her a couple of seconds to fully understand what he means. Once she does, her first instinct is not to believe him because, _seriously_? But then her head starts spinning so fast that she misses a step, and then another, and then Kol has to pull her away from the dance floor before she makes a complete fool of herself, and him. He obviously can't tolerate that, yet to his credit he manages to look genuinely concerned when she finally regains her balance, one trembling hand supporting her weight against the refreshments table.

"You okay, darling?"

She nods, but as she looks up at him she realizes that their hurried escape from the dance floor has attracted too much attention. She frowns, but keeps the façade light and apparently unconcerned. "Do you want to get some fresh air?"

To their guests' eyes, they're here together, aren't they?

He guides her to a nearby balcony, and she follows him outside, taking a deep breath as she comes to rest her hands on the balustrade railing. The gothic plinths support gargoyles she'd rather not look too closely at, choosing instead to lose her gaze in the patio garden bellow, and on the gravel path leading out to the front yard. Farther ahead than she would have thought possible in a central-London mansion, she can see the silhouettes of the iron front gates—their majestic stature draws her gaze in, and she feels Kol following the movement of her eyes. "Thinking of flying away?"

She shakes her head. No, she isn't thinking of leaving. It's not like she hasn't had the time to think this through for a hundred and fifty years. She isn't stupid, and she isn't a coward.

The scenery is just really, really beautiful.

"Good," Kol says, "I'd miss you. And I cannot even imagine how insufferable a broken-hearted Niklaus would be, if you were to dare leave him."

She scoffs, because _really_? "Yeah," she snaps, unwillingly. "Broken-hearted."

She's the queen of self-depreciation. So what?

"Oh, don't underestimate yourself, Caroline. That isn't sexy," Kol says, smiling, amused at her self-consciousness, yet with sincere gentleness humming beneath his words. "Haven't we just run away from my brother's party because of what I said before? It's true, and you know it."

_This has never happened before._

She shakes off the shiver of trepidation creeping up her spine, and opts for a change of subject. "So what now?"

Kol turns around, leaning against the balustrade and crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes settling tenderly on Caroline's face before he smiles again. "In a few minutes, I suppose, Nik and Elijah will waltz into the dance floor to mingle with their less important, yet important enough to be here, guests. Nik will be carrying a mindless hot date on his arm, so please try to contain your urges to rip her eyes out with your nails, even though I admit that it would be fun to—"

"I _so_ don't care that Klaus is dancing with some creepy sacrifice dumbass girl—"

"Yeah, it totally shows," he grins, gracefully dodging the smack she throws at his arm with the back of her hand. "But going back to your question, they will drink a glass of Champagne, stroll around for a dance or two, and soon after, the less important guests will start to leave the party. Nik won't approach you, so don't expect him to. Elijah will, probably, but don't fret, Caroline, sweetheart. Nik will find a way to communicate, if only to make sure that I know he's watching every move I make. He never liked sharing much, so when you see him with the half-drained bimbo, take some satisfaction in the fact that he'll be crawling beneath his skin with the need to come and steal you away."

She rolls her eyes, refuses to let him see how it affects her, _the need to steal her away_. Shaking her head and sighing to the best of her corset-restrained capacities, she focuses her eyes on the faraway top of the wrought-iron gate. "So what happens when the guests leave?"

"Well, so do we, darling. If you want to see Nik before he leaves, you can come here. After he and his associates are done with the girl and the hard liquor, they'll go out hunting—you may see him leave, if you are so curious. He'll be back late, but, I feel like I should warn you—"

He trails off, his voice lowering, and Caroline frowns. She moves closer, hugging her arms tightly and regretting the fact that she didn't bring a shawl she could fidget with. "What?"

Kol is avoiding her eyes, and he grimaces, shaking his head before looking up again. "It isn't really any of my business, Caroline—"

"Tell me," she demands, eyes wide open and unafraid. She honestly can't think off the top of her head of anything that Kol may want to warn her about, something that obviously makes him uncomfortable, and she'd rather not let her imagination fly free.

"—I really don't mean to overstep my boundaries, but I've been on this kind of hunt before and, you know, after having his obligations keep him away from you all night, and having endured watching you with me… Well, I can imagine that my brother may want to visit you tonight."

"Uh…umm…_what_?"

So yeah, she just stuttered like a fool, but _that_ she wasn't expecting. _That_, in fact, she doesn't even understand. What does it mean? Does it mean what she thinks it means, or is Rebekah right and she really needs to get laid before her hormones invade and conquer what little remains of her sanity? She doesn't want to jump to any rushed conclusions here about knocking anyone's _pants_ off, but you know, she also doesn't want to be in a position where she's thinking of Klaus paying her late-night visits after a thrown-away comment that her brother made about some creepy dangerous hunt that he's leading all over the darkest corners in London. Like, how did her mind even go from that image of bloody carnage to the thought of early-morning impromptu post-desiccation sex with the freaking original-hybrid devil?

She's losing it.

Yet Kol's mischievous smirk is truly leaving no room for imagination, and just like that, her easy friendly feelings toward him vanish into thin air, and she's once again overwhelmed by the urge to kick him wherever it hurts the most. Was the coy awkwardness just an act? Surely. It's especially obvious when he just shrugs, moving away from the balustrade to let her know without so many ways that they have already abused the very much unearned privacy the balcony has allowed them. "Come on, Caroline. Let's go back to the party before someone starts imagining unimaginable things, shall we?"

She follows him in silence because, well, he's right. But she still fumes and pouts as he unlocks the glass doors that open right into the small private salon they came through after escaping the ballroom. "I don't get it," she protests, the words hissing their way out of mouth like, as if afraid that they can actually be heard by the dozens of guests dancing and drinking at the other end of the hallway, "the other day you wouldn't let us alone for five minutes and now, you're practically telling me that he's going to… that he wants to…well, I don't get it."

"You don't get it?" He looks genuinely puzzled. "You're a vampire, are you not? My brother wants you, but duty has kept him away all night. I'm sure he's itching all over, really. He loves to put on a good show, and I'm sure he would have got a really good kick out of Cinderelling your suspender bell off tonight. He would have loved to sweet-talk you into bed with the aid of caviar and Champagne, but, alas, being king entails a great deal of sacrifice and responsibility. Responsibility, he can handle; sacrifice, not so much, honestly. And after a night out hunting that's really just a sort of macho competition… well, I'm only saying: be prepared, darling. Just in case."

_Be prepared_.

Be prepared for the knock on your door at three thirty a.m., exactly.

No suspender-bell in sight.

Klaus's eyes had warned her, too—looking at her from across the patio before the hunting party left. A strange group of dark-clothed men and women Caroline hadn't even spared a glance, fixated as she was on Klaus and Klaus alone. He looked as amazing in black tie wear as she remembered him, but hungrier and even more dangerous and enticing. Maybe it was because she's considerably older now; maybe it was because they had already shared the blood of that girl, and they were getting ready for the hunt. It was haunting and gorgeous, the way the streetlight caught in Klaus's eyes when he looked up at her. She felt like Juliet in her balcony, but the perverse version that felt enthralled at the thought of a dressed-to-the-nines Klaus ripping apart the low dumps of the city, drenching his morning coat in blood. She had smiled at him with wonder, and he had returned her intense gaze with a determined nod before leading the hunting group out of the property.

_Be prepared_.

The night rushed her by after Kol's warning, like waltzing and caviar canapés were only a mindless distraction to keep her thoughts away from the main event she didn't even known she had been waiting for—not until right _now_, a shaking hand closing convulsively around the doorknob, as she lets him in. She barely has a second to think of something she can say before her senses are overwhelmed by the all-encompassing, all-consuming scent of blood oozing off of him.

She gulps around a loud intake of breath, and barely manages to bite back a moan.

He's lost the elegant coat somewhere along the way, but she doesn't want to think much about that. She chooses to believe instead that he's discarded the bloody clothes before coming to find her, and that is why he's barefoot, wearing still his dress pants, but only a white undershirt covering his chest. It fits her bed wear, she realizes: sweats and a camisole, because that is what Caroline understands as _being prepared_. She isn't dumb enough to presume, and she truly will never feel self-confident (or drunk) enough to pull off the whole 'I sleep in fancy sexy lingerie and a few drops of expensive perfume everything' deal. For her, 'be prepared' means staying awake biting her nails off and burying away crazy expectations as soon as they bounced up in her head. Because really, she was nervous. Why? Because she does _not_ want to want him here, and that is a very confusing thought, okay? Especially with her body in full overdrive mode, which was bad enough before he actually showed up smelling like fresh, rich, mouth-watering human blood.

"I've missed you tonight, love," he basically purrs, and she has to move behind him to close the door and avoid his bright darkened eyes for at least a complete second before she can return his gaze. She turns to face him with as much determination as she can gather, and she smiles because what else can she do? But doesn't say anything, doesn't think of anything, doesn't move away one millimeter when he takes one step closer to cup her face in his coarse hands. "It was so impossibly hard for me to keep away all night long… you look so delicious, Caroline. You have no idea how much I wanted to just grab you and take you away from my brother's undeserving hands."

Well, she might have _some_ idea.

But it's hard to focus on anything—or really, think of anything at all—when she can't move past the smell he radiates. She can feel it tingling in the tip of her tongue, curling in her stomach and squeezing in her loins. She knows it's not incidental—he wants her to smell it; wants her to desperately crave the euphoria running through his veins. It's a trick, and a pretty obvious one at that. Make her feel the bloodlust that will send her pulse racing; will make her palms sweat and her heart pound faster and waves of liquid heat to spread faster, pool lower, ache sweeter.

The scent of him, familiar and so new and mysterious at the same time, enhanced now after the rush of the hunt, is coated with the smell of the blood of (so many) different people, and it's making her feel lightheaded with need. He knows, and she knows that he knows, so when his hands fall to her waist and he pulls her closer against him, she doesn't try to fight it off. The desire to burrow her face in his neck and curl her fingers in his slick hair when he pins her against him, his hands nested against the small of her back to keep her arched against his chest and hips. It's intimate and dangerous, but there is no second guessing any choice that her body makes while she's engulfed by the aches of thirst and want. She'd thought of asking him, light and playful, if he had had fun. She'd thought of batting her eyelashes and letting out a flirty laugh. She'd thought they'd talk and make eyes at each other, and she'd scoff and roll her eyes at his unsubtle innuendos before her knees would buckle and she would fall into his arms.

She hadn't thought—

—the urge, the need is irresistible, and her desire only burns hotter and more painful the tighter he holds her against him, his lips pressed to her temple as he nuzzles her hair. She opens her mouth against his neck, and before she even realizes what she is doing, she flattens her tongue on his pulsing jugular, as if she could taste the blood rushing through him across the fragile veil of his clammy skin.

She barely recognizes the thick low voice when he whispers, "Have at it, Caroline."

Except—she remembers it, like she remembers the taste of his blood. One hundred and fifty years later.

Just the memory is exhilarating, and remembering the overpowering bliss of feeling _his_ eternal blood running through her veins is enough to haze any doubts she might have had. She feels the strangely pleasant sting pulling at her gums when her fangs lengthen directly past the salt of his skin, and then—

—then she loses herself in the taste.

He gasps when she bites him and his hitched breath morphs into a low moan when she sucks. She's not eighteen anymore, thank the heavens for that, so she knows how to take it slowly. There is no pain this time; the liberating rush in her veins has nothing to do with his blood fighting the werewolf venom off her system. It's all _him_, and she loves it like she hasn't loved anything before in her life. She doesn't want it to end, so she goes slow. Her lips close on his skin and she suckles only in small sips, catching in her tongue every stray drop that spills with long, hard licks up and down the wound. She closes her eyes and allows the blissful taste of him to overcome each and every of her senses, latching on harder and muffling her moans against his skin when he pushes her against the door, one leg pressed tight in between hers so she can straddle his thigh.

It's dirty and hot and mind-blowing, and when she finally pulls away, far from sated, she can't help but be glad that the beasts inside of them have found better ways to communicate that mundane human speech, because if she had to say a word right now—

—she doesn't remember how to speak. How to curl her tongue against the roof of her mouth to produce a coherent string of sounds. It seems impossible. It seems pointless. It seems like the biggest nuisance, when Klaus pulls away only barely, just enough for his lips to trace a tingling path from her temple to her half-opened lips, and without even waiting for her fangs to retreat he rolls his tongue into her mouth, the tip running over the edge of her teeth before pushing in deeper, urging her to reciprocate, tangle her tongue around his and push back with all she has.

She is burning inside out.

She feels every flush of blood running through her veins; every pore in her skin tingling. She is aching for him, her nerves frizzing, every muscle and sinew pulled so tight that she feels like a fiddle string about to snap. She's never done this before—never felt or behaved like an animal rutting in desperation, wiggling against him and rocking her hips into his, swallowing his taste again and again with every stroke of his tongue against hers. She sees white when she feels his hand, crawling beneath her thin excuse of a camisole and sliding up her side. His thumb barely grazes her nipple, just once, and before she can even gasp out the shock of electricity that runs down her spine, he pulls his hand away. He smirks against her lips, and damn him; mad with arousal or not, she is ready to slap him, but then he moves his hand again, his palm flat against her stomach as he travels down to curl his fingers between her legs, his thumb sinking where the apex of her legs presses against his thigh.

He doesn't even try to get his hand beneath her sweats. He doesn't need to.

Kissing her relentlessly still, he presses his thumb tighter against her, doodling over the cotton of her pants like it's no biggie, moving even closer and flattening his thigh against her crotch to push her harder against the door. She feels him hard against her stomach, but before she can do anything about it, she can sense her feet coming off the ground, and she can do nothing but tighten her grip around his shoulder and let the waves roll her over, afraid—_terrified_ that she will fly away and disappear.

If she ever lets him go.

-  
tbc.

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**Thank you so much for reading, guys! I hope you didn't hate it. Drop me a line if you have any comments!**

**So... **

**I can (more or less safely) predict that this fic will have two more chapters before it's over. I know, I know. Six chapters and a prolongue counts as multi-chaptered? I know it's not really a big achievement, but it is for me and, as I said in a previous update, this fic was never meant to be very long. The only point of it was to get Klaus and Caroline together, and we're very close to that point now. So certain... conversations need to be have. On the bright side: you can bet all your savings I have a million one-shot ideas floating in my head. And I can (this time surely safely) predict that canon will be inspiring me very soon!**

**Next: a visit to the Tower of London, and the much dreaded hybrids talk.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello everyone! First of all: I'm sorry it took me longer to update this chapter. But, you know - I posted two long canon-based one-shots in the meantime, so... ;);) As always - thank you so very much for your comments! They really make me very happy and proud - to know you're taking the time to read my story and leave me a review. Also, thanks to the new followers and those of you who've favorited. Means the world to me!**

**This chapter is a mess, and I really hope you don't hate it? ;)**

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**Chapter 5**

**.-.**

"Caroline!" Rebekah screeches, hands fisted in the covers as she pulls them to her chin, "Don't you have _any_ boundaries?"

"Oh, quit the drama, Rebekah! You're not naked," Caroline shakes her head, scooting over on the bed and pushing Rebekah closer to Stefan until the three of them are lying comfortably—by Caroline's not-aristocratic standards—in their king-sized bed. "I need to talk to you."

"It can't wait until, I don't know, _the sun's come up_?" Rebekah groans, moving away from Caroline and huffing in annoyance when Stefan drapes his arm around her waist, holding her protectively against his chest. Like Caroline's infectious or something, and they match catch something if she somehow gets mixed up in their early morning cuddling.

Caroline rolls her eyes, rolling onto her side to look at them properly and popping her head up on her elbow. "The sun hardly ever comes up anymore, you know that. And hush, don't distract me. If he wakes up—"

"Caroline," Stefan interrupts her, remarkably more calm than Rebekah, but still very clearly annoyed by her intrusion, "you know we were sleeping only five seconds ago, right?"

"Yes," Rebekah agrees, "and we could have been… doing other things. Honestly, you cannot just barge in like this, Caroline! This is our room, and I don't care how close and cozy you think we all are, it's really not okay for you to invade our privacy—"

"Oh, come on! I knew you weren't having sex, I have ears, you know? _Vampire_ ears—I could hear Stefan snoring from across the hall, so don't give me that—"

"That is _so_ not the point, Carol—"

"—and it's not like, you know, there haven't been some unfortunate accidents over the years. And we all got over it, didn't we?" She hisses,_almost_ angry at her friends' lack of sympathy. "You're not exactly the definition of discrete. Or _quiet_, for that matter. Like, you know, last night. Most of the guests hadn't even left yet, and really? The _junk room_? So much for glamorous ballroom dancing!"

She wants to take some satisfaction off the silence that falls on the room after her little rant, but Rebekah's glare is so hard and unforgiving that Caroline finds herself gulping. Rebekah grinds her teeth around the furious words, "You have no right—"

But thankfully, Stefan intercedes, coming to Caroline's rescue by tucking Rebekah closer and dropping a quick kiss on her temple. He shushes her with such tenderness that Caroline is torn between the urge to smile and the wish to scoff at their very unpleasant cuteness. She opts to do nothing because whatever; she remains immobile and forces herself to look apologetic when Stefan's eyes set on her, and he gives her a tiny reprimanding nod. "What happened, Caroline? I doubt you've crept into our bed at six in the morning just to pick a fight with your best friend."

She nods. And smiles a little. And concedes, "I'm sorry."

She is. But Stefan is right—Rebekah is her best friend. Stefan is her _other_ best friend. And it's just Caroline's dumb luck that she has to go to them with boy troubles, given the circumstances. Like, the boy in question is Rebekah's brother, so she kind of needs a second opinion—hence why, well, Stefan. But Stefan is a guy, and boys will be boys and squirm all embarrassed and uncomfortable when their female friends want to talk about certain issues—hence, why she needs Rebekah. She can't win this, and they both have to suffer with her. That's what best friends are for, after all.

"It's okay," Stefan assures her, beginning to look a little bit worried. "What happened?"

His genuine concern throws her off-balance. It makes her realize, against herself, that, okay—_maybe_ it might not have been the best idea in the world to ambush them in bed at such an ungodly hour, but damn it, vampire or not, after an entire night staring wide-eyed at the ceiling of a foreign room in a foreign house, she can't be blamed for feeling a bit on edge. Especially after what she and Klaus did.

Almost did.

Started to do.

Whatever.

She bites her bottom lip, rolls onto her back and stares at the gigantic spider lamp hanging over the bed. "I think I may have made a mistake last night," she says, breathing deeply. "With Klaus," she adds, for good measure. Just in case.

"You slept with him?"

She turns to Rebekah with a frown so deep her head hurts. "What!? No! What?"

Rebekah wrinkles her nose in response, obviously puzzled by Caroline's reaction to the very blatantly _not_ wild guess. "So? What happened then?"

"We made out." They made out. And really, they shouldn't have done that. Why? _Because_. She was supposed to get to know him, right? She barely knows the guy! They've talked like—twice. And both conversations happened like, one hundred and fifty years ago. Back when she hated him and he disgusted her (_not_) and she was kind of plotting to get him killed all the time. "I mean, it was just—it was intense. But you know, we just kissed. Kinda. There was a bit of blood involved—"

"Ugh, Gross!"

"Come on, Care!"

"What!? We're vampires! It's what we do!"

Right? It's just _blood_. Nutrition. It's the one thing that keeps them going—basic sustenance. No harm in enjoying it, right? Like humans did in their time; cuisine worked pretty well for them until they extinguished all resources that made food, you know, edible. Call her a Mary-Sue vampire all you want, but there are not that many ways to really _enjoy_ feeding, and she doesn't like killing people—as cleansing for the environment as it may be. Fresh blood is available at any time; yes—she can go hunting, also. She knows how to feed without hurting; how to compel without trespassing into someone's mind and messing up their heads. But biting Klaus—

—it's really kind of, um, _guh_.

After the ridiculous display of power at the ball, and after not being able to dance with him, or talk to him, or _be_ with him at all. After the hunt, for goodness' sake. She had been able to smell them on him. She had gone to bed on an empty stomach! And being one hundred percent honest, she and Klaus might not have been that close before her friends desiccated him, yes. They had shared maybe two genuine conversations; danced a couple of times. Promises had been made and ignored repeatedly; she'd pretended she could actually play him, and he had let her pretend. Nothing serious had happened; nothing romantic—except a stupid drawing that she still keeps tucked in her old, precious copy of_Beautiful Disaster_. Subtle, huh? Dare judge her trashy literary taste and Caroline will rip out your heart and smile while doing so—but, back on track: _biting_? That much, they had done.

Drinking Klaus's blood wasn't the problem.

"You've been a vampire for one hundred and fifty years, Caroline," Stefan says, shaking his head and burying his gaze in the hollow of Rebekah's shoulder. It's so awkward, Caroline frowns at him. "You don't need me to explain to you that blood-sharing—"

"Ugh, whatever. I don't care bout that." Blood-sharing, blood-sharing. So what? "Been there, done that, remember? I bit him, wasn't the first time. No biggie. Now—" She pauses, gathering the courage she needs to admit certain things in one deep, tasteless intake of breath. "He _kissed_ me. I mean, _we_ kissed. Like, we kissed. A lot. And I thought that we were going to—but then he wasn't—and I mean, I'm not saying that I _want_ to, but—you know?"

Stefan looks up at her, his whole face crumpled in a ridiculously-looking expression of horror. "No, I don't know, Caroline. Honestly, I don't think we're the right people you should be talking about this."

"Well, you're the _only_ people I can talk to about this, so it sucks for both us, buddy."

Rebekah raises a hand to stop Caroline's impending tantrum, eyes narrowed in genuine interest. "Are you here because you're feeling—um,_rejected_? Because Nik didn't sleep with you like, two hours ago? I am sorry but I need to ask, _do you take my brother for a caveman_?"

Rejected? _Rejected_? How about _no_?

"Well, you lived in caves, didn't you?"

Nope. She doesn't feel rejected. That's not why all her sass is coming out particularly weak this morning.

"We most certainly did _not_ live in caves, you ignorant—"

Lost in her own rushing thoughts; she tunes Rebekah down until she can barely hear her insults and offended ranting. Because it's not—it's not_that_. It's not old!insecure!Caroline surfacing from the days of long ago to come kick her butt. She is not worried that Klaus doesn't want her; that maybe he'd thought about it a lot while he was desiccated in a coffin, and has decided that she isn't worth the effort and patience after all. Yeah, the thought had crossed her mind a few times over the years—more than a few, okay? But not anymore. Klaus's been as direct and frank about his intentions since their reunion as ever before. She was with him there last night—or well, this morning. The way he kissed her—Caroline didn't remember _ever_ being kissed like that.

That was the problem.

A mouthful of blood and a taste of his mouth, and she was beside herself. Her whole body was in overdrive, burning, shaking beneath him. He'd made her come apart without any effort, and after she had fallen limp against him, his tongue down her throat and his hand between her legs—he'd retreated _so_ gently, she'd almost melted down right there on the floor. But he hadn't let her; he'd move his hands to her waist again, and had held her against him while his lips brushed softly over hers. She'd caught his mouth in hers again, and he had kissed her back with the sort of tenderness she had only seen glimpses of before. They still hadn't said word—not until he whispered, "Good morning," the words tingling in her lips as he'd pulled away, for good this time.

It had been hot; dirty and animalistic—it had been about blood, and a little bit about sex, and damn it, Caroline is an accomplished creature of the night. She can handle that. But then—once the beast inside was sated with blood and (rushed, dry, doesn't-even-count) sex—it all had changed. It was soft and tender and romantic, and _that_—

—_that_ she hasn't had in a hundred and fifty years. _That_, she and Klaus had never done.

It's far too soon. Isn't it?

"Caroline? I thought I heard your voice—what's going on here?"

She doesn't register the door to Rebekah's room opening until Klaus's sticking his head inside, brow furrowed in confusion as he takes in the scene before him: basically, Caroline, Rebekah and Stefan, in bed, together. She's _this_ close to blurting out that it's really not what it looks like, when Rebekah starts screaming.

"Nik! How dare you—this is _my_ room! Me and Stefan could have been—"

"Goooooood morning, Klaus," Stefan interrupts her, eyes wide in alarm because, admittedly, this situation looks especially bad from Stefan's position. He's in bed with Klaus's sister and Klaus's… _Caroline_. "Slept well? Caroline here apparently didn't. She came to tell us _all_ about it. Has a little problem with boundaries but, you know, we forgive her. Been living huddled up in a small apartment for years, after all, so—any plans for today?"

Klaus's frown dissipates into a light grin as he obviously chooses to ignore ninety percent of what Stefan has said, for his own peace of mind. "Yes, actually," he says, turning to Caroline as his smile sharpens, tightening a rather pleasantly painful knot around her stomach. "Have you been to the Tower of London, love?"

Um… yes, she has. She's been living in England for over a decade; there has been the occasional weekend trip to London over the years. The crowd; the food; the entertainment. She's done all the silly touristic things, too. The Tower of London—she barely remembers it; didn't leave much of an impression, which, as it happens is greatly convenient. Klaus had mentioned the possibility of getting upset if he thought of all the fun Caroline might have had without him over the years. Not a lot, actually. But he'd also been rather persistent about showing her things and places, so—if the Tower of London is where he wants to start, fine by her. She has no intentions of curbing his enthusiasm, so she smiles a little smile and shrugs a little shrug. "I was there like, ten years ago. Didn't see much. It was crammed with tourists."

His smile widens, splitting up his whole ridiculous face. "Fantastic. Get dressed. We'll get breakfast when we there," he says, eyes sparkling as he turns away from the door without a second glance.

Caroline raises her eyes slowly to look at Stefan and Rebekah inquisitively. "Are we eating the beefeaters?"

"Seriously!" Rebekah raises her hands in outrage, eyes out of their orbit. "What kind of messed-up assumptions have you got about my brother? You honestly believe that he'd take you _murdering_ iconic tourists' attractions to seduce you? We have some class, Caroline!"

"Well, in all fairness, he's taking her to a creepy haunted medieval fortress for a first date," Stefan smiles, clearly way too amused by his smartass input.

Caroline rolls her eyes, again, because it's _really_ not a date. It's not even freaking seven in the morning. No one goes on dates at seven in the morning, not even Klaus, to whom meaningless human conventions such as adjusting one's activities to one's daytime and nighttime biorhythms clearly do not apply. But also—Rebekah is right, despite Stefan's not-funny comment. After the week he spent running wild across the High Lands, and the previous night's big-ass hunt, and the fact that he's quite-comfortably getting used to the modern fresh-and-human blood-providing commodities of the times—Klaus's appetite for carnage and mayhem will be satisfied for a while.

Or so Caroline hopes.

Still, she's pretty damn impressed by the croissanterie he takes her to for breakfast. And at the same time, she is not, once she thinks about it, even if real pastries are hard to come by these days. Still, it's how Klaus rolls. She isn't really _that_ shocked when, all necessary guards compelled to ensure a private tour of the Tower, he spends the entire morning telling her story after story about the feasts he shared with Richard the Lionheart ("I thought you were in Italy in the twelfth century"), his close friendship with Henry III ("A true aesthete, not unlike myself"), and how he lost his royal favor after the fall from grace of the Plantagenets.

"I came back for a short visit at the beginning of the sixteenth century, after my return from Bulgaria," he tells her as they walked towards the exit, her feet sore and her ears ringing with the ghosts and echoes of a thousand tales of war and grandeur. "You're more familiar with this part of my life story, I presume? It wasn't my finest moment, I'll admit. Somehow I found myself in a dingy cell, held in chains and feeding from rats. For two days or so—until the guards finally came to take to the scaffold, and I could properly regain my strength off their jugular."

"Lovely," Caroline says, her stomach rumbling in hunger in spite of her sarcasm. "No juicy stories about seducing Anne Boleyn? Didn't you make her _lose her head_ over you?"

She has a soft spot for all and every tragic heroine and a knack for crappy jokes. Shoot her. Even though—if Klaus actually had a romance with Anne Boleyn, she's going to have to burn her old _Tudors_ DVDs. Who she doesn't have anymore, anyway. She'll have to burn the memories, then. Burn them a lot. And break things. Pretty things. Like Anne Boleyn and her stupid face and her stupid princess dresses—

"You think I would have let _another man_ behead _my_ lover?"

She raises an eyebrow, "He was _the_ King, you know? A king can do as he likes."

He mirrors her gesture, brows pulled up like he cannot believe her. He mocks her with such a douchey display of arrogance that she wants to scoff at him and stomp on his foot and cut their weird freaky down-history-lane date short because, ugh, he so gets on her nerves like you have no idea. But then, by the time she stops thinking about how much and how bad he annoys her, they've turned a darkened corner and they're standing in front of a little place, vintage bright-colored letters hanging over the doorframe, _BISTRO_.

"This was a favorite place of mine," he says, a dim smile twitching in his lips. "Actual home-cooked French food hidden deep in the South Bank. I can't believe it's still in here."

He goes inside before she can warn him.

So really, what's she to do but follow him inside and accept the chair that he holds for her; smile all briskly and awkward when he hands her the menu? He looks so genuinely and strangely delighted that she plays along with an easy smile, going by what he suggests and waiting patiently, cringing internally, for the moment when their food is set before them, and he takes it to his mouth and—

She should have thought this through.

"What the hell is this?!"

An angry Klaus is an unpredictable, dangerous Klaus; but hey, maybe she's really mastered the arts of calming erratic volatile originals—she means,_Rebekah_—over the decades, because a pacifying smile and a hand on his forearm somehow save the maître from having a fork stabbed into his eye and, you know, replacing the supposedly French meal that doesn't seem to have been much to Klaus's taste.

"It's not a real goose," she begins to explain, and, when he frowns, she chooses to go in depth about the many issues and concerns that plague her about the human ecocide. He reacts appropriately, in disgust and outrage, as one would expect from a hedonist like him, and it leaves a weird taste in her mouth—that it's overindulgence like his that has landed them where they are now. Genetically-modified proteins shaped like animals of long ago; tasteless food and barely a string of cardboard make-believe recreations of the old, picturesque and tasty little restaurants that once upon a time one could find at every corner of every street in every town this side of their dying world.

He looks honestly disturbed. "Is there nothing left to be enjoyed?"

Caroline tilts her head. It would be so easy to lead the conversation towards the obvious innuendo, but she chooses to be bold and honest instead. "Well, I wouldn't really know."

He frowns, his fork toying with the unnaturally green lettuce on his plate. "What do you mean?"

Taking a sip from her carbonated water, she lets her eyes fall to the napkin she's straightening on her lap. "I still haven't been anywhere, really. I haven't done many things."

"Hey," his fingers tap her arm, making her look up at him; he looks concerned, "Why is that? It's been a hundred and fifty years, sweetheart. What snow globe's kept you so confined?"

There are so many answers to that question, and all of them are true.

So she begins to tell him, everything she can remember from the years and decades that followed his disappearance. Why she stayed so close to home. Why she had always thought that the world outside would still be waiting for her, one hundred and fifty years into the future. But her home—she had only one chance; one lifetime to watch her own life without her; what her life would have been like. So she had stayed. For her mother, first and foremost; she couldn't stay at Mystic Falls past her college years without compelling the entire town into ignoring that she hadn't looked a day over seventeen for as long as they could remember, but Richmond was big enough to hide in plain sight and keep close enough to her family. But also, Matt and Elena. And of course, Stefan. He and Caroline had left town together; moved in together. He had taught her how to move on; how to wait out the lives of their friends and family, as they grew and changed and married and _lived_ while they stayed in the outside, looking in from their hiding spot in the shadows. But he hadn't taken her away; never dreamed of it. He had watched over Elena every step of the way, just as much as he had watched over Caroline. He forced her to stay and lived through each and every painful goodbye. Her mom. Matt. Elena. Bonnie, at last. Growing pains, Stefan had called it.

She remembers it like it only happened yesterday.

Rebekah had come and gone. She and Stefan had their on again, off again thing. They always talked of no-strings attached when you asked them, but it didn't take a psychic to predict how that would end up. Once enough time had passed, and at last they had no ties binding them to the semblance of a human life they all once pretended to live.

They traveled the country; the eastern seaboard most of all.

Sometimes the three of them. Sometimes only Caroline and Stefan. Sometimes Damon would tag along, with whatever girlfriend of the year he carried hanging from his arm. They never strayed too far, just in case. Stefan and Damon and Caroline were drawn to Mystic Falls like magnets to a pole. Rebekah had her thing with Stefan; their history and their genuine friendship and what Rebekah liked to brag to Caroline was the hottest sex you could ever imagine. It was gross and endearing at the same time, really; and awfully convenient, Rebekah had confessed, as it allowed her to keep an eye on Caroline. She had bitched and moaned about it at first—the babysitting duties that Elijah had entrusted upon her. It was stupid and pointless, she protested. Klaus wouldn't even remember her anyway. It was simply not possible that her brother had been _that_ enamored with someone as bland and empty-headed and insignificant as Caroline.

"It didn't take us very long to become friends," she comments, pausing to sip from her carbonate water once again. So much talk is making her throat feel dry and soar, but Klaus's eyes never leave her for a moment, and she finds that she just _can't_ stop talking, if it means that he's going to keep on looking at her like she's the most fascinating thing he has even seen in over a thousand years on this planet. "It's weird, if you think about it. She _really_ hated me at first."

Klaus nods. "She was jealous," he pinpoints, "Rebekah can be quite possessive. Runs in the family, I'm afraid. She was probably just resentful of how close you and Stefan were. She doesn't like sharing. I'm sure she also didn't appreciate the fact that I cared for you."

He _cared_ for her.

He makes it sound like it's no big deal; like he isn't talking about feelings at all. He makes it sound like he had simply taking a liking to her. Like he _enjoyed_ her. And yet—the thought that back then, he had _cared_—enough that Rebekah had resented it—sends a shiver down her spine, and has actual freaking stupid butterflies fluttering their wings in her stomach. It makes her feel _grateful_; that Elijah offered, and that she accepted. To wait for him, and come find him when the time came.

She barely saw Elijah over the years, she tells him, continuing her story. A couple of times that she remembers. That time they had run into him (so not coincidentally, Caroline's sure; he kept close to Elena, too) in New York City, and at Elena's wedding, of course—everyone had been present at the joyous occasion, possibly to keep an eye on Damon and Stefan in case heartbreak led them to do something foolish that could endanger the life of the human girl that was keeping Klaus locked up in his coffin for two human lifetimes at least. Or Caroline's life, too. She knew that the originals were keeping an eye on her—Rebekah had never been quiet about it, and Kol had also confirmed it that Mardi Gras of blood and bourbon Rebekah had dragged them down to visit him in New Orleans. Caroline doesn't remember much of that; really. A cute dark-skinned boy with a bright smile; a thrilling hunt across the darkest corners of the French Quarter to celebrate the last days of pleasure, and Kol's tantrum over her indecent behavior and irresponsibility, and how if she was feeling itchy, he could very well scratch her without putting her life—and thus, the lives of _all_ of them—in jeopardy. And she'd enjoy the ride better than any parade. Caroline had been drunk, but not drunk enough to _not_ scoff at his cheek. Because clearly sleeping with Kol would have ended so much better for everyone, obviously. Not that she, you know, would _ever_consider it. In a million years. In a _billion_ years. Ever.

"How did you like New Orleans?"

"Oh," she grabs a hold of her rushing thoughts the best she can, her eyes flickering madly over the table so for a second or two she doesn't have to look at him. She's sure he isn't expecting her to have remained untouched for his sake for one hundred and fifty years, but there's a difference between the discrete, mostly-fun, and absolutely private flings she's had over the decades, and thinking of New Orleans, and the cute boy whose name she doesn't even remember, but who had outraged Kol so much. Because you know, it was _his_ family. She's a free woman and she doesn't owe him any sort of sexual faithfulness, thank you very much—but from what she knows and can imagine about Kol, that one's going to come and bite her in the ass sooner or later. But she's all about honesty today, so she finally says, "I didn't get to see much of it, really. Rebekah wanted to see Kol, and Kol wanted to party and well, it went all in a blur, to be honest. We were there just for a couple of days. I'd like to be back someday, learn about the history of the place, you know? Actually _see_ the city."

"I'll take you," he says with a wide grin, the tasteless food now definitely forgotten on the plate. "I happen to be one of the founders of the 'most unique' city in America."

She can_not_ believe this guy. "Of course you are," she rolls her eyes. "Why am I not surprised? I am not _one bit_ surprised. Or impressed, just so you know."

Especially after the guided tour down the history of medieval and Renaissance England he just gave her at the Tower. Because the truth is, if she were to let herself be impressed by the fact that he has spent a thousand years making history happen with his own hands—bloodied, bloodied hands, but _hardly_ the point—she'd spend the entire day picking up her panties from the floor. Which she has no intention of doing, unless _he_'s the one peeling them off her legs.

She still hasn't entirely forgiven him for leaving her hanging the night before.

It may or may not be obvious in her wrinkled nose, or the coy expression in her eyes, judging by his deeply amused lopsided smirk. Anyway he doesn't let it distract him, and when she is ready to suggest maybe getting out of the stupid fake bistro, the appreciative glint in his eyes sort of just vanishes, like he's read her mind and all of a sudden doesn't really want to go home with her. His voice drops and he grimaces apologetically. "Before we leave, love, you know I have to ask, right?"

Her face falls in synch with her stomach dropping out to her feet.

Oh, yes. She knows. She's been waiting. She's been expecting it—except _no_, she wasn't expecting it _now_. He's told her stories about his life back in the times and places she's only read about in history books, and she's told him about the life that she got to live without him, _before_ him. It was both, nice and thrilling; pleasant and exciting. But now, reality has come crashing down her expectations and—

"Where are my hybrids?"

—she only cringes mentally, and in fact does a phenomenal job at looking composed and unperturbed by the question that _yes_, she knew he had to ask. They've talked about themselves and it's been _real_ and significant, but there are things that need to be taken off their way if they intend to move forward. Like, Caroline can only hope, they do. So she leans back on her chair and looks at him warmly and affectionately, and tells him the whole honest truth: "I don't know."

He doesn't question the sincerity of her answer, simply nodding, and she wants to kiss him for that. Which is a crazy thought, because she knows that now is the time for him to ask, calm and soft and anything but angry, _yet_—"What happened?"

And so she tells him.

"That night—the night that Elijah showed up in Mystic Falls to offer Elena the deal, Alaric told the council about me and Tyler. So we packed a bag and left." She makes an effort not to look away from his bright blue-green eyes as she speaks; she tries as hard as she can to school her face into a façade of repose and nonchalance. The memories don't bother her anymore, but she can't help the knot tying in her stomach at the thought of whatever plan Klaus might be fabricating while she speaks. Still, she soldiers on, and keeps on talking. "We didn't make it two state lines before Stefan called. Bonnie and her mom got some witches to help your siblings get rid of your mother's hunter. They couldn't kill him, but they, um—"

"Desiccated him?" He smiles, morbidly. "You can say it, love. It's not a bad word."

She ignores the derision in his words, and keeps on talking. "So, after Damon handled the council, we came back home and, like two days later, a friend of Tyler came into town and, um, she moved in with him." Yup. That happened. And even though, given the malicious smile drawn all over his face, she is sure that Klaus would definitely enjoy the gory details of her ill-fated romance with Tyler, she does her best to skim all over the uncomfortable bits of the story to the best of her capacities, which, sadly, is not all that great. "Name was Hayley and, as it turns out, she was the one who helped him break the sire bond after he left. She'd run into a stray hybrid, followed him to Mystic Falls, heard about what had happened to you, and decided to help Tyler set them free. The rest of your hybrids."

This is where he snaps. This is where he is _supposed_ to snap. But he doesn't look even the least bit surprised by the revelation that in fact, his hybrids aren't his anymore—wherever they may be. His face remains mostly expressionless, but his eyes don't harden like she's expecting them to. His jaw doesn't clench. His hands aren't fisted over the tablecloth, but leaning open towards her—his body language still eager and crystal clear in conveying his desire to be close to her.

So she closes off her tale with a tender smile. "After they broke the sire bond, they became a pack. Tyler's pack. He was their alpha, and they became his family. Eventually, they left."

Just like that. One night howling at the full moon.

"Well," Klaus says at last, leaning back and clasping his hands together, "I supposed that, after Tyler broke his sire bond so effortlessly, an outcome like this was much to be expected. But," his eyes narrow, and now his whole body tenses, and Caroline's heart skips a beat in dread, "excuse me for prying, sweetheart, but I have to ask. Hasn't Tyler kept in touch over the years?"

It's obvious in his tone that he doesn't believe that the story ends simply with, _they left_. And it doesn't. She isn't lying to him today—it would be severely stupid of her, wouldn't it? "He did, at first. He sent letters, and left random cryptic voice messages in my phone. He never told me where he was, and I never asked." She hasn't seen Tyler in one hundred and fifty years, and there is a very obvious reason why. "I never told him about the deal I made with Elijah. I never really saw me and him together one hundred and fifty years ahead, I guess, so it didn't seem like a big deal that I had somehow made your brother promise to come find me when it was time to wake you. I don't know, I was young and barely eighteen, and one hundred and fifty years seemed like an eternity, but, I think he knew that one way or another you'd eventually find me, and then you'd want to know about your hybrids, and it was just a lot safer for everyone if I just didn't know anything."

"So that's it?" He frowns. "He closed the door on his way out and you never saw him go? Cut you off from his life just like that? Funny," he smiles, obviously thinking that, whatever he is about to say, it is actually the opposite of funny. "He was the last person I talked to before Stefan and the rest of your friends stopped my heart. He disobeyed a direct order to help the doppelganger and you know, I was dead curious to know how such a thing was possible, given that he was sired to me. And, you see, he gave me this grand speech about the power of true love." He laughs, bitterly. "Well, so much for that, I suppose."

She doesn't appreciate the bitterness, or the mocking words, so she crosses her arms over her chest and leans away. It's all about their body language, isn't it? "He chose to protect his pack. You're the wolf. You tell me, because it doesn't seem like something I could ever understand."

The scorn fades from his face as he leans over the table. "It's been one hundred and fifty years, Caroline. You are here, _with me_. And I haven't jumped out of that door to start plotting how to hunt and kill your mutt and his dogs just yet, so _you tell me_, love. Does that answer your question?"

Um, _no_. It so does _not_ answer her question.

Like, _what_ question anyway?

She wants to groan out her frustration, stomp her foot and maybe take a page off Rebkah's 'How to Be the Perfect Brat' handbook and throw a loaf of bread at him—except, well, there's no bread in sight. Not a pinch of actual flour. So instead of making the scene she's itching to make, she narrows her eyes and aims her glare like a fire gun. "Are you gonna do it? Are you gonna hit the road, hunt them down and kill them?"

He takes a sip from his glass of fancy red wine, dark as blood. His eyes are hard and cold when he looks at her. "They've become a liability, Caroline. I killed those wolves, I made them into the thing they despise the most—vampires. Even though they begged me to let them die instead. Now they're a pack, loyal to their end. They're stronger than most vampires, and soon enough they'll have a couple of centuries on them, which will make them ruthless and very, very powerful." He makes a pause for dramatic effect, and waits for her to understand what he is saying. "They're a threat."

She shakes her head. "They're not a threat to _you_."

He shrugs, leaning on his elbows, moving closer. "No, that's true. They're not a threat to me or my family, who I know are in possession of the white-oak stake. But they are a threat to _you_—"

"Tyler would never—"

"¬—and they are a threat to hundreds, thousands of vampires who owe their loyalty to me, and who, let me tell you, are not exactly grateful for my original idea of creating a new, superior species to govern over all the other supernatural creatures in the world."

Caroline huffs, so unimpressed. "So what, you're walking out on your family, again, to hunt and kill a pack of hybrids… because you're making concessions to your _minions_?"

Her sass doesn't even earn her a smile. "My minions are my kingdom, love, and I must admit that I might have overestimated the worth of the hybrid army I meant to create to protect my realm, now that I know it takes so little to lose their loyalty."

"So that's it?" Her voice rises sharply, against her will, her fingers fisted on the napkin on her lap before she sets it up on the table, like she's getting ready to stand up and storm out of the ridiculous Southwark bistro like her life depends on it. "You're just leaving? Aren't you tired of running, Klaus? It's been over a freaking thousand years, and all you've ever done is run! Aren't you exhausted?"

She can't believe it. She can't believe _him_. Is this how it ends? One hundred and fifty years later, his family reunites; debts paid and the slate wiped clean. She's there, this time. She goes to him—

—and he just leaves? Finds himself another evil quest and rides off to hunt down whoever he believes has affronted him this time?

Well, fuck him.

Just don't come calling her in another one hundred and fifty fucking years, because guess what? She won't be here. Won't wait for him. Won't spare him a second thought. Won't even recognize him in the street if they ever accidentally cross paths again. You get that?

"Caroline, sweetheart—"

"No," she says, closing her eyes because she might be getting irrationally, red-seeing mad here, but she doesn't want him to notice how bad it affects her, the thought that he's leaving, after one conversation, one blood-sharing episode, and one heated make-out session. Just like that. Like it means nothing. Like _she_ means nothing in the middle of his never-ending war against the world and against himself. "It's fine, do what you have to do. I get it."

"What is it you'll have me do?" He groans, his hands snapping on the table. "They will want to take revenge for what I did to them, love. Do you expect me to just ignore it and hope for the best?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, not giving a damn how stupid she sounds or how very little sense she is making, or how much she is revealing that she actually doesn't want to reveal just yet. "Yes! What's wrong with hoping for the best from time to time, huh? Sometimes, good things actually happen, you know? Just do what you do. Keep your eyes open, have your people be alert in case there is a move against you and, when they come for you—_if_ they come for you, which I don't actually think will happen—then you do what you have to do."

Full disclosure? Caroline hasn't heard anything from Tyler in basically forever, but she can't help but hope that the years have taught him some caution. If he and his pack are still alive, somewhere deep and high in some rocky chain of faraway mountains—Caroline can only hope they've moved on and come to appreciate their eternal undead wolfish life, enough not to throw it away in a failed, ill-advised fit of vengeance. Who would be so stupid as to make a move against Klaus, knowing like the whole world knows by now that he's stronger than he's ever been, surrounded by his endless string of courtiers and his deranged, murderous, indestructible and inseparable family?

He looks mildly interested in the emotions behind her outburst, and he isn't laughing in her face, which she takes as a good sign. In fact, his fingers twitch, moving almost imperceptibly closer to her hand upon the table. "You're saying," his whispers, his voice deeper and more relaxed, "that I should ignore the spark that might eventually catch fire and ignite a revolution against me and my people."

The tone of his voice, vibrant and warm, doesn't match the meaning of his words, so Caroline frowns, confused, yet cautiously optimistic. "I… guess?"

He smiles, his eyes gleaming unmistakably when his hand finally falls on hers. He drags the tips of his fingers over the lines of her bones, the ridges of her knuckles. It's a slow deliberate caress that sets her skin on fire and unnerves her. Like, his touch has the very annoying tendency of dizzying her, but enough so as to make her completely blank out entire chunks of the very serious conversation they are supposedly having? Why is he flirting with her now? Weren't they fighting ten seconds ago? Is this how their arguments are always going to end? He touches her; she becomes a puddle, end of discussion.

How _pathetic_ is that?

"Well, sweetheart," he murmurs and damn _him_, can his voice sound any sexier? He makes her spin so bad, really. Going from all business to all pleasure this fast. His fingers crawl beneath her hand until his palm is pressed to hers, and then he runs his thumb up and down the side of her hand, sending a spark of electricity up her arm and right into her spine. She sighs, content, and he grins deviously. "I'm a businessman, and I'll be happy to hear your counter-offer."

She wants to roll her eyes at him. She really, really wants to. But his fingers are doing things to the sensitive skin of her wrist, very bad things, and really, it's hard to focus on anything but how much she wants that counter-offer right now. So pulling her hand away just slightly, enough to entwine their fingers together and regain some control, she smiles her sweetest smile. "You once told me there's a whole world out there, remember? Problem is, this world's dying, as I'm sure you get after the crappy lunch. You said you'd show me all it has offer and I'm kinda afraid that, unless we hurry, soon there's not gonna be much left for me to see."

Practical and reasonable, right?

Sort of cancels out the fact that their hands are having dirty table sex right now. Or not.

His red, wine-stained lips draw a ridiculous stupid sexy smirk, one eyebrow raised pointedly. "So we hurry, huh?" He sounds so sultry, he disgusts her. "Good things come to those who wait, Caroline."

If only she could pull her hand away from his, she'd punch him _so_ hard.

"Yeah, well. Maybe in a couple of centuries we will have taken over the world, but it doesn't seem like we're getting any closer to outnumbering the fifteen freaking billion people who are killing the planet now, so who knows how long we have left to actually appreciate some of the _good_things humans have done over the course of history, right? Most 'not-so-great-anymore' cities are just crapholes these days, really, and you said that you'd take me—"

"Caroline, love, you're babbling, and if you don't stop, I'm going to kiss you."

She shuts up immediately.

Which—_maybe_—is not what she should have done. But what does he expect her to say after _that_?

Nope, she doesn't want him to kiss her (liar liar pants on fire). Not _now_, anyway. Not awkwardly over the table—though she somehow doesn't have _much_ trouble believing that he could actually make it work—in the middle of a restaurant, surrounded by bored-to-death waiters who are giving them the evil eye for not vacating the table after finishing their lunch like, an hour ago. Nope nope nope. She doesn't want it—well, maybe—but not, because—that is, perhaps—

His evil grin is just so evil she actually manages to disentangle her hand from his so she can throw the napkin at his face.

"Let's get out of here," she says, shaking her head and not looking at him because really, he is so freaking awful and annoying, she just _can't_ look at him without smiling like a fool and melting like a sundae, and she _so_ hates him for that.

Endlessly.

~  
tbc.

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**Thank you so much for reading!**

**Next: we will be traveling to Saint Petersbutg for the ending of this story!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello guys! Here it is: the last chapter of this story. **

**I'd really like to use this a/n to let you all know how grateful and touched I am by every review, every comment, and every follow and favourite this story has gotten. I struggle at multi-chaptered stories, so if I have made it this far, is thanks to you, guys, and your continued support for this story. Thank you – really, I mean it. You're extraordinarily kind to me.**

**So I hope this final chapter isn't a huge disappointment.**

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**Chapter 7**

**:-:**

They spend a week living at the Hermitage before the watchmen kick them out.

He lets them kick them out, of course.

_Of course_.

They're both hungry, after all; she smiles and lets him get with it. His arrogance still makes her roll her eyes more often than not, but whatever, she's learning how to shrug. It's not like she isn't curious about finally seeing his place in the city; she's sure it's opulent and decadent and ancient and gorgeous and dark and creepy and charming—just like him. Yes, _yes_, hiding out in the Winter Palace has been fun, but all good things must come to an end, right? Playing princes and princesses inside her head, watching him sketch in a rush every new piece added to the collection since the last time he visited; standing in front of his landscape night after night, remembering that other night two lifetimes ago: the waltz, the Champagne, and his studio, which she's sure is still there waiting back home, untouched by time like the paintings hanging from the walls of the palace they have taken for their own—

(—the first time she saw _him_—)

Well, honesty time now: living in a grand _old_ real Russian palace for a week is exactly the kind of dreamlike, cheesy, and absolutely unreal adventure that she has spent a hundred and fifty years waiting for. And more. So much _more_.

Even if she counts the handful of obnoxious tourists they've had no option but to feed on, which was admittedly a bit awkward and not as exhilarating as it could have been, under the right circumstances; but hey, it's bound to happen when you go fairy-tale honey-mooning with a the biggest baddest monster, so Caroline adapts. Caroline overcomes.

It's still the best freaking week of her entire life.

They sleep in the Royal Chambers, like she too belongs in a palace. He tells her stories of war and art and rebellion, and of Catherine the Great. He calls her _my czaritsa_, the soft word whispered in what she assumes is his perfect _hot_ Russian, as a warm puff of air slides moist up and down the column of her neck.

"My _czaritsa_…"

They leave the Winter Palace eventually, but the elaborate pet name in Russian keeps on falling off his lips, days later, as his mouth deeps lower, his neck bowing as his tongue curls on the swell of her breast, and she shudders, her blood surging, burning her inside out as an aching heat pools between her legs. He hitches her up against him, one-handed and effortlessly, and she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as she rolls her hips up against him.

The words creep out of her tongue, rebellious and uninvited. "I missed you," she whispers to the darkened high ceiling of his luxurious apartment, the penthouse in the highest building in Mokhovaya Street.

His lips tug gently, and _holy crap on a cracker_.

It feels unreal. It feels _safe_. The love-me-tender touch of his deadly hands; the warm, moist caress of his tongue swirling, barely-there as it grazes her nipple. It's a good thing that she can't see his burrowed face—no need to blush or smile coyly as she arches her back unnaturally, her hoarse throat breaking around a dry moan as she pushes herself up, up, harder and harder against the light pressure of his mouth and teasing fingertips, desperate for the friction, the clashing he allows her anywhere but here.

His mouth slips away from her skin with a gentle _pop_, and he grins up at her, arms crossing comfortably under the bow of her back so he can keep her close, firmly pressed against him. "I'm not extorting dirty little secrets out of you, love," he smiles, blowing a soft kiss right above her sternum. "As distracting as my ministrations surely are, there's no secret agenda. I quite enjoy making your squirm just for the fun of it."

She slaps his head slightly, shakes off and easy goofy smile. "I'm serious, you idiot."

But she wasn't, when she blurted out the words. _I missed you._ She was high and gone in pleasure and want and _him_, tingling bright and vibrant through every pore of her skin—but she _is_ serious now, as he crawls up her body to rest by her side, his head sinking into the pillow only inches away as she rolls onto her side so she doesn't have to let go just yet of the happy, lustful glint in his eyes.

She starts speaking before she has any idea of what she is going to say.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," she confesses, and it's the truth. "At first I saw you every time I closed my eyes. I kept remembering you in that coffin. So—so _gray_. I remembered your eyes—you looked at me when Damon opened the coffin, and I thought—I guess I never realized before that since you can't be daggered, you'd be awake all the time. It was—" Her voice stutters and drops. "It must have been so horrible."

It must have been torture.

Caroline knows now like she knew then—even though there were so many things that she hadn't known then—that Klaus is no stranger to much, much more horrifying forms of torment than confinement, starvation and desiccation. But still—the sight of him haunted her for years until she began growing up; growing _numb_ to pretty much everything. Time started moving faster one day; pain, suffering and violence became relative; a necessary evil—the source of _their_ life itself. Inhumanity was her _first_ nature, after all. There are, she knows, worse things for a dead body than lingering in a coffin.

Still—

She grew up waiting.

Waiting for the day when she would see him again.

She missed him even at the times when she didn't even suspect—that it was him and him alone lurking in the back of her mind. Haunting her. Reminding her. Keeping her company.

His words reaffirm her conviction, and it eases her mind a bit. "There are worse things than desiccation, love. Things I hope you'll never know," he whispers to her, soft and gentle; his nose a hair-breadth away. "Dagger or no dagger, it doesn't take very long to lose consciousness on a heart that doesn't beat."

She smiles languidly. "So you were asleep?" Her hand pushes slightly on his shoulder, and immediately he rolls to rest on his back, his arm heavy around her waist as he pulls her down with him. She lands on his stomach, and a small giggle escapes from the back of her tongue as she straddles him. She feels him through the thin laze of her underwear, stiffening beneath the roll of her hips, and she leans down on him, resting her elbows on both sides of his head on the pillow. "The whole time? And here I was worrying about nothing."

He returns her smile with a deep caress of her his hands sinking into the curve of her waist. "It's like sleeping through a very long night with a restless mind. You keep waking up—conscious, unwanted thoughts seep into your head and mix up with the dreams. It's unpleasant, but hardly comparable to other torments I have known."

For emphasis, he marks his words with a powerful jerk of his hips. Grabbing her hips with forceful fingers, he rolls her body down, urging her hard and heavy over his semi. She whimpers through the fog of pleasure, words and thoughts of the _bad_ kind of torment the furthest thing from her mind as a shot of pure bliss ripples through system. It springs her up like a trampoline, and she sits up, shivering when a sudden rush of cold air hits her nude skin. She's a vampire¬—she can't be cold. But the touch of his hands sets her on fire, and the darkest night of January in the darkest city of Russia is a goddamned freaking cold night even in a rotting, globally warmed world. It's a violent contrast¬—the scorching heat of him and the bitter iciness of his absence when her body is only barely touching his. Hips joined like puzzled pieces, tenderly, almost unconsciously rolling together so the pleasure keeps on humming, drumming gently through her veins; warm and steady but refusing to escalate, never enough to send her off.

Maybe seconds, maybe minutes go by as she shudders in anticipation and pent-up delight before his fingers move at last, curling fast into the hem of her panties, pulling them only halfway down. His hands grab her ass with a bit more force than she's expecting as he buckles his hips up against hers, and the hot spark of burning pleasure that shoots up her spine catches her off guard and she gaps, her back arching, her nails sinking into the taut flesh of his chest so she doesn't fall backwards when he pushes himself up to sit on the bed.

She can't help it. It's barely a single drop that slides out of the crescent her fingernail has drawn into his skin, but the smell—of just one drop—is overwhelming. Hunger of a different kind overtakes her and she dips down her head to lick it off. The torn skin heals before she's swallowed his taste, so without thinking, she bares her teeth and sinks them in, sharp and desperate as they stab the hard skin beneath his collarbone until she finds a pulsing artery that she can latch onto.

His deep groan rumbles through his chest and she drinks it in, gulps it down with a mouthful of his blood, and reciprocates with a broken moan when one of his hands moves to the front of her panties, his knuckles parting her skin as his thumb caress her softly, tenderly, always in control. She pulls back to look at him through the mist of her want and her blood-rush, and smiles at him dizzied by pleasure, but hopelessly needing _more_. She's been treading the edge for hours now; he keeps refusing to let her fall, and she knows—she _knows_—

She combs her hair over her shoulder, baring her neck to his mouth as she tightens the grip of her arms around his shoulders. She pushes herself up against him, her chest flush against his, and leaning on her knees she buries her nose in the mess of his sweat-slick curls, bracing herself for the impact—

—and _at last_—

—it happens all so fast that she feels all at once.

He bites her and tears off her panties and she pushes herself up higher on her knees to accommodate him as he thrusts into her, and then she melts and disappears completely into the pull of his mouth, relentlessly sucking and licking her wound. His blood and hers fuse together as he drinks her in, fucks her; loves her. She feels him deep inside, beating in her dead _dead_ heart as he pounds into her ruthlessly. She feels him rushing in her veins as she drags her tongue over the roof of her mouth, enjoying the remnants of his taste down her throat until his mouth unlatches from her neck, his hands knotting in her hair as he pulls her face down to his. She licks her own blood off his lips, sucking his tongue into her mouth in a desperate attempt to keep him close when, suddenly, he begins to slow down the frantic pace of his thrusts.

In a flash she finds herself on her back, staring up at the ceiling once again, with eyes so wide that they sting—not seeing him. Her breath clots in the back of her throat, and her arms grab uselessly at the empty air that has replaced him.

He moves too fast for her to keep up.

Before she can even notice he has moved, he's pulled away; by the time she realizes she's no longer straddling his lap, he's already crawled to the feet of the bed and wrapped her legs around his shoulders. Caroline doesn't have a moment to try and breathe in. His mouth closes on her in a second, and his fingers sink, scratch, curl. She can barely react. Fisting her hands weakly on his hair she tries arching into him; her heels burrow in the small of his back, and, with a rush of _his_ blood to her head—she falls apart.

She comes together a lifetime later, it feels to her.

In a haze of bliss and bright white pleasure still, when he hugs her to him, once again lying on top of her, buried deep inside, whispering as he too falls with her this time. "My _czaritsa_…"

Caroline smiles, giddy and exhausted.

He's burn out the last remains of her supernatural energy, and so she keeps quiet and lets him talk—lets his confession lull her to sleep. "A hundred and fifty years are nothing, my love," he murmurs into her ear as he combs her hair away from her face. "I spent a thousand years in the dark."

She yawns in response. "I dreamed of you too," she confesses right back at him, the words heavy and clumsy as they roll into a sleepy tizzy, one second before she falls away into a deep, deep—the _deepest_ of sleeps.

When the annoying beeping of her pad wakes her up before the sun has finished attempting pointlessly to rise over the dark clouds of dioxide and pollution blanketing the city—

—it feels just like that time she woke up after the accident back home, still human; dozy and painless after a heavy dose of anaesthesia and magical vampire blood.

It's unsettling.

Even through the pleasant, heavy stupor clouding her senses, the screeching beep manages to worry her awake and alert, because in a fleeting moment of awareness, Caroline realizes that everyone she knows in the world is in London right now, and in London… it's the middle of the night. So even though it physically hurts her, digging her way out of her pleasurable drowsiness, she still manages to roll away from Klaus, stretching as far as the iron grip of his arm around her middle will allow her to grab her pad from the nightstand. She isn't surprised to see Rebekah's name on the screen, but her stomach still jumps up a little, unable to shake off the worry that something bad must have happened if Rebekah is texting her at three in the morning, GMT.

Rebekah really values her beauty sleep, you see.

So with a gathered breath at the back of her throat, Caroline unblocks the screen, flinching concernedly until the bitter reminder hits her right in the face. How could she forget for even a second that Rebekah is, most certainly, the most annoying person that ever walked this sorry excuse of a planet?

The words mock her from the bright screen.

_Has my brother killed you yet? Kol is worried._

Groaning loudly, debating whether she should throw her pad across the room and get a new one and change numbers so Rebekah can never find her again, Caroline falls back onto the mattress, the breath she'd been holding puffing out of her in irritation. Her annoyance does not dissipate one bit when Klaus pulls her in closer, not bothering to open his eyes but tightening the grasp of his arm around her waist as he tucks her in against his side. He's so warm and the pad is so cold in Caroline's hand, and she _truly_ wants to slap Rebekah over the phone line for disturbing the happiest, sexiest, most pleasant night of her life. So to hell with it; she doesn't really think it through when she starts typing, teeth clenched in exasperation because ugh, Rebekah just woke her up from the most amazingly blissful rest for no reason whatsoever except to be her usual gigantic pain in the ass.

_Oh, he's trying_.

_To kill me_.

_He's getting closer_.

_I'm afraid. _

_I think he's one orgasm away from fucking me to death._

She grants Rebekah a single second to gasp out her horror at the other end of their virtual conversation. Only one tiny little second before she types again, ruthless.

_You can tell that to Kol._

She bites her tongue—

_Ease his mind_.

—and waits.

She's fully awake now, feeling victorious and mischievous and a tiny little evil as she imagines Rebekah's horror-struck face. She's probably dropped her pad in shock and aggravation, and is cursing Caroline to hell and back, screaming Stefan's ear off. The poor guy was probably sleeping and, _damn_. Caroline can't help but feel a little pang, bitter and painful as realization coils like a snake in her stomach.

She wishes she could see Rebekah's face right now.

But she has to make do with the bubbly laugh that erupts from her mouth when her pad starts beeping hysterically, flashing with unreadable messages in caps-lock and keyboard-smashing language, the occasional _GROSS_ filtering in through Rebekah's attack of disgusted and severely traumatized wrath. She's such a drama queen, really. Thankfully, the messages become more intelligible as Rebekah rants away her fury. _You tasteless tactless uneducated gross peasant_; and, _Have I ever told you of the many times your bestie has tried—I can even type that, you foul-mouthed common tavern wench_.

Caroline's laugh softens, but she keeps on chuckling until Rebekah's tantrum fades away. She waits a couple of minutes before replying, after the last text that bubbles up in her screen. She lets the silence sink in meaningfully before she types again:

_I miss you too._

Her smile crumbles the tiniest bit when her pad beeps again.

_Shut up. I hate you._

And a few seconds later—

_You will pain for the brain bleach_.

Still chuckling, but saddened by the sudden wave of wistfulness clutching her heart, Caroline tucks her pad under the pillow and turns around to look at Klaus, hoping that the sight of him, asleep in the nude, will perhaps distract her from how freaking much she misses Rebekah and Stefan. Her family. The two people she has spent her entire vampire life with—or, in the case of Rebekah, the best part of her vampire life. They've been together the whole time. Thanks to them, she's never been alone. The past few decades—knowing that they were only a few steps down the hall, that she could always wait for the first dim and exhausted rays of faded sunlight to seep through the glass walls of their little apartment to go and crawl in bed with them, or drag Rebekah out to grab some breakfast because really, she has a thousand years on Caroline, she's faster and neater and much better at hunting and feeding without making a mess—

Knowing that they were there for her at all times was what got her through all the bad nights and the long days of feeling lonely and miserable and numb and bored out of her wits of a life that was dragging on forever without ever getting anywhere.

Now, with Klaus—

Klaus is exciting. He's a blast of life—of _true_ life—rushing through her veins. He's no more bad nights and no more lonely days of numbness and misery and—

But Klaus is _not_ a safe haven.

He isn't a constant. The longing, the wondering—waiting for the day when she would see him again and her life would be turned upside down—that's the constant. The guilty hope that he'd sweep her off her feet; the humming fear that he'd crush her heart in his palm, or he'd devour her whole and make her disappear, or maybe he wouldn't want her anymore and she'd have to start not giving a damn about him and stop procrastinating and start living her own life with no excuses and no fears and no more second guessing herself. That is her constant—being with her friends and being safe and waiting for something _else_, something other than the life she knew to finally happen to her and completely change her world. Not being able to forget her last days, her last weeks, her last months as little girly human Caroline. She had wished back then that life was something different from her little insignificant loveless existence in Mystic Falls. Now she _knows_. Life is different, and she wants the thrill, the excitement, the rush of the life that is only now beginning for her. She wants _Klaus_.

She's always wanted Klaus.

But her friends, her home—

He opens one eye to look at her, his arm falling off her waist. "I can hear you fidgeting, Caroline. Louder than you were laughing only minutes ago." His voice comes out in a low rasp, heavy with sleep. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she assures him quickly—far too quickly to be believable, which frustrates her to no end. Because _nothing_ is the matter. "I was just talking to Rebekah."

_And I realized how much a I miss her and Stefan_. After a week. How pathetic is she? How clingy? She is a _child_, still. Ugh. She hates herself sometimes. Like right now. She's talking herself into feeling sad and depressed only a few hours after the highest high of her entire life—n Klaus's arms.

She must be insane. It's the only logical explanation.

"You want to go back," he says, both eyes now open and fixed on her, sharp as daggers. Unreadable.

"No!" On pure instinct, she moves closer to him, her hand reaching up to curl on his neck, reassuring and affectionate. His eyes widen in response, brows pulled up in blatant disbelief. Caroline feels her stomach tying up in knots because _no_, she doesn't want to go back. She doesn't regret—she wants _him_ to show her the world. She wants to _be_ with him.

But he doesn't believe her.

It's a thousand years of loneliness and betrayal and mistrust and permanent hatred that she is standing up against, she knows. _I spent a thousand years in the dark_, he whispered before she fell asleep. Now his guarded reaction is the unquestionable proof to the sentiment behind his declaration. She sees how it happens, one step at a time: his face becomes a hard-edged mask; his muscles stiffen, and even lying down, seemingly relaxed, his back straightens up like a pole. He looks so hard and unforgiving and strong. Deadly. So broken that he cannot shatter any further, so he's become invincible.

He only has to say her name, "Caroline,"—

—for the tears to pool shamelessly in her eyes.

"No!" she insists, loud, careless that she may sound desperate or needy. "I want to be with you. I don't want to go back—not yet." Her voice is trembling, her words kind despite the tone, and vulnerable. It works. As his pain terrifies her, the openness of her heart helps smooth the sharpest angles of his soul—she can only hope. So once again she chooses to be honest with him, for all those times that she wasn't when she knew him a million years ago. "It's just—Rebekah and Stefan were talking about maybe going back home. They made plans. They thought that maybe, after Elijah woke you and we weren't waiting anymore that they could—and I—

"You want to go back home with them?"

"No! Yes—_no_. I mean, I _want_ to see the world with you," she struggles to explain. Sighing out her frustration, disciplining her face into the brightest smile she can come up with, she sits up, tightening the sheet beneath her arms to cover herself. _Home_ is Virginia; it's the place where they all were born. For Stefan, it's Damon. For the rest of them, it's the Falls and the land and the sky and the woods that have known them for so long. It's a nice thought—one that makes the tears in Caroline's eyes remain unshed, and growing happier as she briefly allows herself to get carried away in the fantasy. Her voice bends and she clears her throat, aiming her words to be as soft as she can make them be, and she makes a point of never letting go of his eyes—like she is never letting of him. "I want to see every corner of this earth that's still standing, and I want to see the ruins of every part that has already fallen down. I want to go with you, anywhere you want to go. But I thought—maybe it wouldn't be so bad to travel around the world that like regular people do, you know, like in holidays?"

She smacks herself mentally. _Holidays_?

He frowns, as it was to be expected, sitting up as well and leaning back on the headboard. "We're not regular people, sweetheart."

No, they're not. She knows that but—

"I know, I know. But, I thought maybe we could have like a—a place—" She cannot say _home_—not yet. She won't say _home_, but it is a home that she wants. A home and Klaus and the world. She wants everything. He can give her everything. He will, if she asks. She knows. "A place in the world that is ours—"

"The whole world can be ours, love."

"I know, but—you have a family. _I_ have a family. The world is always out there; we can go everywhere and do everything but I—" She sighs again, but keeps the smile firm and open in her lips as she leans closer, resting her head on his shoulder because she _needs_ to touch him, as her voice burns out down to the softest of whispers. She breathes, "I just want us to have a place that we can go back to."

And at last, his chest quivers beneath the weight of her hand.

He swallows a loud intake of breath, and she draws her fingers over the soft skin of his chest. Strangely, she finds herself wishing that he scarred, so that she could trace the tracks left by her teeth on his flesh.

She drops a light kiss on his shoulder, and immediately he grabs her hand and squeezes her fingers inside his palm, catching her eyes in his only one second before, in a flash, he pushes her down on the bed, falling on top of her with a brand new smirk tugging at his lips. "I thought we were in a hurry to see this decadent world, sweetheart," he drawls languorously, the husk in his voice catching her unprepared as he slowly and deliberately starts peeling the sheet off her body. "I thought most cities were just crap holes these days and we had to rush to see whatever little remained of the _good_ things humans have made over the centuries—"

His words trail off as his mouth descends on her neck, his teeth scraping her skin, his tongue flat, heavy and relentless, soothing the burn. It's hard to think when he kisses her like that, but she still wants to tell him that they weren't really _rushing_ by deciding to spend a week hiding away in an eighteenth-century palace. They aren't rushing _now_. Besides, they'll take over the world one day, won't they? The whole planet will be theirs, and they will fix it. She wants to say all this to him, _really_, but the words die right on the tip of her tongue when he leans up to rolls his tongue into her mouth, catching her breath in his throat again and again until she feels light-headed and dizzied like she really is about to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen.

_Oh, God_.

He's still smirking when he pulls away, allowing her the space to breathe and shiver without the heat of his body pressed tightly over hers. The sheet is bundled up in a knot, half of it falling over the side of the bed, and they're lying upside down, her feet resting against the headboard. The smug expression on his face makes her want to laugh and kiss him again and slap him all at once, especially when he shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You led me on, promised me the world—and now you want me to settle."

After a hundred and fifty years in a coffin.

Caroline rolls her eyes at him and slaps his chest lightly. She doesn't really know how much of a settler he is, but at least the hard façade is gone for the time being. He seems to be considering her unasked request, and the thought has placed a genuine smile on his face. It makes Caroline's heart swell with hope. He's lived all over the world over the centuries, she knows; but most of the time he's spent it in England. He likes the Old World better; he's told her enough times in the past few days. It's ancient like him, and glamorous and dark. It's where he's lived most of his innumerable days.

But Mystic Falls is the one place in the world that saw him grow and die and be reborn.

He was human only there. He was cursed there. He set himself free there. He met her there—back in the days when he built himself a home so his family could be together again. Like they are now, and Caroline—

Caroline doesn't want to scatter away. She doesn't want to be a wanderer. She doesn't want to get lost—in the world; in Klaus; in the dark. Not completely.

She wants the world in small doses. Frequent holidays and escapades and life-changing trips to exotic, ancient cities—and hidden corners no one has ever heard of before.

She wants to be able to go back.

She wants a home. A place to call her own.

She wants Klaus, but she wants Rebekah and Stefan too; like Klaus also wants his siblings, Caroline is sure. Deep down. He cannot rule the world without setting up headquarters, can he? It's only been a hundred and fifty years—perhaps it's too soon to go back home. But somewhere close—

He rolls onto his back and she follows him, tucking herself under his arm to lean over his chest. She presses a quick kiss on the spot where she remembers biting him, and as she does, the vivid memory sends a hot shiver of want down her spine, curling her toes. It makes her grin, suddenly hungry again.

"We don't have to go back now, you know. We don't even have to go back _soon_."

He appreciates the nod—the concession, and the kiss—with a long firm stroke of his hand sliding up her side, coming to rest beneath the arc of arm as his thumb slides over the side of her breast, electrifying her skin. She lets out a tiny appreciative moan and he grins down at her. But then he closes his eyes and shakes his head in annoyance. "Elijah keeps nagging me about a situation in Louisiana," he says, his head falling back on the mattress. "So we might have to go back sooner than I had planned."

_Louisiana_.

That's close enough for now, right?

Right.

He founded New Orleans, he told her. She had said she wanted to go back there; learn about the place and the history; actually _see_ the city that she had barely glimpsed in the blurry rush of the one weekend she spent there when Rebekah had insisted on visiting Kol. It seems certain that Klaus has ties to the place; responsibilities, maybe. So Caroline asks, curious, leaning closer as she creeps higher up his chest: "What kind of situation?"

"An old protégé of mine is overreachcing," he explains nonchalantly, his hands closing on her waist as he lifts up her so she can straddle him comfortably. "Nothing too worrisome."

She nods, not worried, choosing instead to return the mischief in his smile with a wiggle of her hips. "Well, you don't have to be there today, do you?"

"No," he chuckles, pulling her closer. "Not today."

Leaning down, she catches his laugh in her mouth, and he retaliates by swallowing the little yelp she lets out when he rolls her over on the mattress, hitching her legs up in his hands and parting her thighs to the blazing caress of his fingers. And she thinks in a flash, _so much for seeing the world_, in the millisecond that she gets to barely react before he hooks her legs on his thighs, sitting up on his knees and watching her evilly from above.

Uselessly, she tries shifting her hips, arching her back, shuffling her body closer so she can wrap her legs around his waist and pull him down against her. She can't; his iron grasp is unforgiving, and all she can do is groan aloud in frustration. "Klaus…"

In just a couple of seconds, with a couple of clever careful moves, he has her squirming, melting; wriggling desperately and swimming in a fog of want and carefully orchestrated anticipation.

His name grinds its way out through her clenched teeth once again, but he only answers with smile, and the gentlest whisper.

"You're evil," she grunts.

He grins down at her, his hands hard and relentless on her hips, holding her back. "Patience, love. I can do this to you until the world stops turning."

He can. It's that certainty that sends her eyes rolling into the back of her head, a hot wave of burning pleasure blasting through her body as she bites back a loud moan. She doesn't want to encourage his torture, but somehow her painfully obvious and painfully _painful_ arousal might be working some kind of magic, because in a second after she opens her eyes again to look up at him, hopeless and burning, he's crawling all over her body like a wolf crouching to attack.

His body tilts over her and he distracts her; one hand cups her breast as he roughly rolls her nipple thought his fingers, the other slides down her side, curls in the small of her back, massages the base of her spine until she thaws, weightless, meowing. She doesn't anticipate his next move—she barely registers his hand creeping lower to pull up her hips, the pull of his legs beneath hers moulding her body so perfectly against him that with a smooth sudden jerk, he's slid himself into her—so gently.

The whimper that bleeds out of her mouth scratches her throat, but immediately he soothes the pain with a deep, gentle stroke of his tongue. He hums her name inside her mouth—"Caroline"—

—and she lets him drown her, wave after wave; holding her underwater for hours on end. She doesn't come back up for air until he's fallen asleep again—she doesn't need to breathe if she can taste him instead. Doesn't even feel the lack of constricting her lungs; not until she looks down at him, later, and sees him curled up like a child around her body in a mess of long nude limbs and dirty blond curls.

The sight of him in like that, his ancient guard at long last down; his slick skin bathed by grey ashen sunlight as he holds her to him, so desperately—

—it stops her heart dead.

She shudders in love and terror.

~  
**.the end**

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**And that's all folks! You liked? I think this chapter will go down in my history as a writer as the one time I managed to pull 6k of two characters interacting completely in the nude ;)**

**I'm a bit sad to see this story end, I must confess; but I do have the sequel to Prom Night in my head, and it will be posted soon. ;) Also – as much as I suck at multi-chaptered, I'm sure I'll relapse soon enough. So if you liked this story, let me know, and keep alert – there'll be more fic coming soon!**

**Once again, thank you thank you thank you to all of you. I promise: I would have never gotten this far without you, guys. Your support and kind words have made this story possible! I hearts you all a lot. Btw - you can follow me at tumblr: theelliedoll is my url.**

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